My sister's Facebook post about her husband asking her if she was going to clean the house before she left to pick the kids up today reminded me of a moment I had last week.
I came home from a quick trip over the hill to find my own husband at the tail end of a cleaning fit; you know, that deep clean that happens after you find something gross, get pissed and freaked out at the same time then gut the house of any evidence of dirt, grime or disarray.
I stood in one spot, overnight bag still hanging from my shoulder, mouth gaped open as I watched him buzz from room to room, in various stages of cleaning, giving me a list of all the things he had done and a long list of things that still needed to be done, in an exasperated tone that well, frankly, I had only heard come out of me before.
He was like a disheveled Tasmanian Devil on crack-cocaine, talking with his hands, a broom in one hand, a bottle of cleaner in the other, a rag tucked under one arm and a garbage bag hanging from his elbow. Was that sweat on his brow?
A big smile crept over my face as cardboard and expired food goods began flying out the pantry door and I cautiously, gently and lovingly said, "Oh honey, you are nesting!" In that single moment, I was both grateful for his efforts and SOOOOO thankful that he wasn't like that very often.
Now, I don't mind being "the one" with the responsibility of keeping the house in order. Not only is it my excuse to have a housekeeper come in and help me a couple times a month, but living on the flip side of a cleaning fit is downright terrifying! Who knew?
I also now completely understand why hunting season and fall cleaning coincide. Next year, I hope he gets his deer tags.
