When we arrived at our new home in Rota, Spain I was quickly informed that I needed to hire a gardener and a housekeeper. The gardener I hired. The housekeeper I did not. “I’ll be too spoiled” I thought, “I’m not working full-time and my mom won’t be insisting that I make a nine hour drive to see her every other weekend. I’ll have plenty of time and I enjoy cleaning.”
That was a year ago. As of today, I’m not sure where my duster is, I can’t remember the last time my floor was mopped, and thanks to a little grime on my windows, there’s no need to close the shades! Don’t get me wrong, my house is perfect presentable. Just don’t look under the bed, or the couch, or anywhere else that dust bunnies might be lurking. Saying this out loud makes me think I should I ask around for the phone number of a good housekeeper. Do they wash and fold the laundry too?
You see, the time I had allocated to daily cleaning chores has now been captured. Between making my sweet Caroline laugh and finding new plants for the gardener to take care of, I’m just too busy.
My mom always had two signs in her kitchen. One said “Marta Stewart don’t live here.” The other read “clean houses never last, hugs and kisses do.” I may ask her if I can borrow the second sign.
Now, put down that broom! Or bring it to my house.
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