Today I cleaned the bathroom. This may seem like a pretty ordinary day to the majority of you, but trust me, it’s kind of a big deal in my house. You see, I am not super into cleaning. I like to wait until the kitchen floor moves from the sticky phase to the carpeted in dog hair phase before I clean it. That way I feel like I really accomplished something. Also, I like to read more than I like to clean. I also like to hang out with my kids more than I like to clean. Okay, I like to do pretty much anything short of shoving bamboo slivers under my fingernails more than I like to clean.
Genetically speaking, I should love to clean. The women in my family have always had three things in common.
1. They are insanely beautiful. We’re talking beauty queens.
2. They are very proper. They know the appropriate response to every situation.
3. They are very VERY clean.
We’re all pretty sure I’m adopted.
I am not very VERY clean. Every once in a while though, even I can’t stand it anymore and I have to do something about the filth. Today it was all about the bathroom. Now, I have two teenage boys, two preteen girls, and one more little guy on the end. The bathroom gets pretty gross, but not because of the people I THOUGHT would be the problem. I assumed that the girls would be the mess makers in the bathroom. They are not.
Growing up in the eighties, I remember making what was pointed out to me as a HUGE mess in the bathroom. I was told that no one should have to chisel off the curling iron before using it. I remember everything being coated in a thin shellac of hairspray. To be honest, I’m surprised all of us eighties girls didn’t die in our teens of hardening of the lungs due to the constant fog of Aqua Net and Love’s Baby Soft.
Because of my own junior high years resulting in a bathroom that daily had to be scrubbed of hairspray, frosted eye shadow, and hideous clothing, I assumed that these would be the biggest challenges I would have as the main cleaner of the house.
Obviously I never had brothers.
Whatever they are doing in there, it takes a SUBSTANTIAL amount of time. Far more time than either of my girls spend “transforming” themselves in there. I never ask what takes so long, I probably don’t want to know. I just keep feeding them more fiber and hoping for the best.
When I do finally get in there, it’s kind of gross. First of all, there is the hair stubble. I used to notice this more often with The Pastor than with my sons, but now that there are so many adult males in the house, there is a lot of hair stubble. Part of what takes them so long in the bathroom is that they are super gluing each little stubble to the bathroom counter. That must be it, as it never just wipes up on the first swipe.