Clean the bathroom and wash the toilet. . . .

January 23, 2011


Sick.

Again.

Feeling as if I'd just been through this experience.

Oh wait!

I did.

November.

Horrible mess.

Took forever to get over.

And here we are again.

Thanks Pookie.

I love that you take our family motto, "we share everything" to heart.

But you don't have to.

Really.

In fact, I'd rather you didn't, if it isn't too much trouble.






Consequently, last night was awful.

Dozing, but no deep, muchly needed sleep.

Weird dreams about hospitals underneath gas pumps and cleaning out my grandmother's house but it wasn't my grandmother's house even though I thought it was and there were students in it complaining about the assignments I'd given them, and I was worried because I had no way home.

Stephen, snoring.

And we already know how much fun THAT is.

Frankie, whining to get on the bed.

Goblet-of-the-collar-bell running in and out of our room, with her cement-boots-cum-feet crashing and banging throughout the house, jumping on and off the bed, suckling Stephen's ear and then, like a furry, cranky, always-PMSing superhero, flying off to create even more mayhem.

On nights like these, I feel like I'm sleeping in a zoo.

Except a zoo would be quieter.






I did manage, however, to contribute (albeit minimally) to the maintenance of our humble homestead.

Stephen and I shovelled the driveway.

We went to Victory for our weekly chicken and veggie fare.

And I cleaned the bathroom.

Pause (dramatic if you like).

Yes. Me, the undomestic-diva-who-thinks-housecleaning-is-all-academic cleaned the bathroom.

My motivation.

Guilt.

Stephen is running all over the place dropping kids off, taking dogs for long runs, fetching the-nighttime-meds-that-don't-work. . . .

The least I could do was clean the bathroom.

A chore I detest and loathe under the best of health conditions.

Nonetheless, as soon as Stephen and the kids departed for the theater, I collected up the bathroom cleaning supplies, and shut myself in the can.

Because nothing makes an already-detestable chore more difficult than the inclusion of Frankie and Tikka.

And Goblet.

And Reilley.

All of whom would have been in the bathroom squeezing themselves onto toilet seats and into the bathtub faster than I could I say, 

"Out. OUT. You're not needed in here at this moment in time. I appreciate the thought, but really, this is something I must do on my own. But thanks for the thought."






Constantly amazed, am I, that the one room in the house that facilitates cleaning is the room that gets dirty the fastest.

And the worst.

Gross.

I HATE cleaning the bathroom.

Partly because I never know what I'll find in there.

I often think crime scene investigators, or SOCOs if your British, would have a field day in our bathroom.

Along with Kim and Aggie.

Cleaning the bathroom is actually the easy part.

Preparing the bathroom for cleaning. . . . .

That is an entirely different story.

The removal of all accessories and products from all surfaces, sink, bathtub, back of toilet, always reveals that at least half of said I-must-have-or-I'll-be-ugly-and-dirty-for-the-remainder-of-my-natural-life products are, shockingly. . .

EMPTY!!!!!!

And yet they sit on the already-not-enough-space surfaces like saucy squatters.

Not enough shampoo or conditioner to bathe a nit, but they claim their bathroom space with pride.

Once I've sorted the legitimate renters from the squatters, its time to move on to the sink.

All of Em's facial cleaning products, toothpaste, melatonin bottles, handcreams, razors, shaving creams. . .

Removed, assessed for fullness, put on the floor because there is no other place to put them.

And then.

The ceramic toothbrush holder.

Toothbrushes removed.

Bottom of toothbrush holder assessed.

Toothbrush holder in dishwasher asap.

Bath mat.

Will not be discussed, but let's be thankful for strong bathroom cleaning products.

Checking the hairtrap in the tub reveals a conglomeration of long hair (and possibly other hairs that I do not wish to contemplate), shampoo, shaving cream, soap and conditioner that, if given an electrical charge, would jump to live creating a creature only the original Power Rangers could bring down.

Once everything has been assessed, allocated it's place in the useability continuum, and all bathroom surfaces laid bare, then, the cleaning can commence.

The scrubbing, wiping, spraying. . . .

Scalding hot water to remove all globs of gunk and goo. . .

Toilet brushes scrubbing in a frenzy because we all know that men miss.

A lot.

The melodies and harmonies of whining dogs and wailing kitties create the background score for this horror short.

And then. . .

A fresh smelling, bacteria free, squatter empty bathroom.

Good for another week.

Before it starts

All.

Over.

Again.

Hopefully next week my companions the Malevolent Seven Dwarves, Mucus, Phlegm, Coughing, Hacking, Sneezing, Fever,  and Sore Throat will have left for sunnier climes.



Title Lyric: Housecleaning by Mavado