I've Created a Monster

My mother had specific rules for tidying up our house when I was little.  The house had to be tidy AT LEAST on two occasions: 1) when we were expecting visitors and 2) when we were leaving for any longer than a day, so she could return to a clean house.  She clung to these above all else under the onslaught of three horribly messy growing children and a husband with his mind on less earthly things than housework ;-).

Among the multiple wise, wonderful things I picked up from my delightful little mommy (you can send me a check, Mother...), I latched on to these rules with the same mindset.  And then took it one crazy, nutso step further, to where a large portion of my free time is spent pottering around various areas of the house, with the aim of constant tidiness. After all, with only a slightly untidy spouse and one small child, the cleanliness of my house is one of the things I can control almost 24/7. The boys are rarely able to get ahead of me.

I was thinking this yesterday as I was obsessively scrubbing something inane (I don't even remember now what it was, which shows you how important it must have been...). And thinking that should the day ever arise when more children grace my life, my housecleaning impulses are going to have to go down the drain rapidly, especially with this doctoring thing that I've got my heart set on.  Yeah, you can hire a housekeeper, I suppose. But I clearly remember the abortive attempts of housekeepers to relieve some of my mother's cleaning burdens when I was young.  They would leave the house, and she would start cleaning, because they never did things the way she wanted them.  I have no illusions: I'm just like my mother. So basically, my tidy house days are numbered.

However, I may have given myself a little boost into the saddle with Mi Hijo Numero Uno.

Case in point: he came home yesterday from a 2-week vacay with his dad, and walked into his room expecting it to still be in the stellar condition in which he left it.  However, I had belatedly realized that I needed to wash away some allergens and had therefore completely stripped his bed of the 5 pillows, 2 bolsters, 3 quilts, 1 baby blanket, 1 large tiger, 1 large pig and about 30 stuffed animals which regularly occupy it.  Seeing the carnage littering his bedroom floor, he promptly burst into tears, and berated me, saying "but it's so much work to build my nest!!"  Which is a fact I discovered for myself, when, an hour later, his sheets were done and he requested my help to put his bed back together.  Having restored his zoo to its proper location, I left him to the final touches.

When I walked in a little later, he was busily picking up the (maybe three) toys that were on his floor and he said "I need to clean my room, mom, will you help me?"
"Um, sure," I said, "but why does your room need cleaning?" I repeat, there were all of three toys on the floor.
"Mom! What if someone comes in here, what would they think of me?!"
"What?! Who is going to come in here?!"
"Visitors!! Or a new friend!!"

Yes, that's my child.  Freaking Martha Stewart in the body of a 7-year-old boy.

But at least maybe I'll have someone waging war on my side in the ongoing saga of Woman vs House.