Oh the Joys of Cleaning

I don't like cleaning.

I don't like cleaning on my bike, 
     I don't like cleaning in my Nikes.  
I shant say cleaning is fun, 
     be it at the beginning or when it is done.  
I would rather bitch and moan as I sit, 
     "I don't like cleaning not one single bit"



This dislike of mine becomes troublesome when one factors in the fact that my wife LOVES to clean!  She looks forward to cleaning the first day of Spring with all the windows open, she cleans when she is stressed, and god forbid that her parents or anyone are coming over to our house because then the perfectly normal everyday cleaning is not enough.  It is uber-cleaning until every crevice shines like the sun's rays off a slick glacier.

One would think that if Wifey loved cleaning so much and if it was so rewarding to her well-being, then she would want to always clean our home herself.  Shockingly, this is not the case.

Wifey's contention is that if I love her, if I love my child, if I love the home I live in, then well I should LOVE cleaning as well since it makes Wifey happy, is safe for the rugrat, and shows genuine appreciation for my abode.  First, it need be mentioned that I do not care what my house thinks of me.  Secondly, my child is testing my love for his safety, because that little hoodlum excels at making our apartment a mess.  Finally, if she gets to use the "you'd clean if you loved me card", then I should be able to counter with my own card, "if you loved me you wouldn't make me do things I don't like to do."  (It should be noted that the card I used is much gentler than the card I sometimes want to use which is "get off my back!")

I am not altogether certain how Wifey managed to hide her fanatical cleaning habits from me during the mating period, but I have seen this fanaticism blossom as our lives continue to grow together.  We both know that she gets it from her mother, and that both her brothers are fastidious cleaners as well.  Her father, Abuelo, is a meticulous cleaner as well, but Wifey's mother, Abuela, admitted that this wasn't always the case.  Abuela says it took years to get Abuelo to clean well.  (I encourage readers to replace "to get" with "train").

Let me take a moment to admit that I'm a fatalist and here is just one of many reasons that backs up my beliefs.  Before I moved in with Wifey, I lived in an apartment in Brooklyn with two female roommates.  One of them was an obsessive-compulsive cleaner.  I felt she had other issues as well.  If it was up to her all the roomies would have cleaning parties and be ever vigilant against that dastardly foe: dirt.  However, since I wasn't sleeping with her and had no desire to because of my belief in her worrisome mental state, I cleaned the way I did when I lived with other single bachelors which was not to unless a girl might be sleeping over (normally unlikely).  In fairness, this roommate was due for a mental breakdown every six or so weeks, so I'd super clean the restroom, plus sweep and mop the incredibly small kitchen.  I over-bleach bathrooms and I learned if I did this too much, she'd complain about the harmful toxins and wouldn't ask me to clean until the next breakdown.  In fairness to that roommate, after she moved out the apartment became invested with roaches.  Of course I was okay with them, the roaches, because a.) they were only in the kitchen, and b.) I rarely cooked (because that required knowing how and wanting to.)  My other roommate and I had to complete a stomp-and-kill, then super-bleach the entire apartment when we had to make it presentable for the open house/roommate search.

There are numerous problems with cleaning.  The two biggest reasons being that 1.) cleaning is a nuisance, and 2.) it requires effort.  And you know what, cleaning might be a digestable choice if things ever remained clean, but that's the horror with cleaning: it is NEVER completed.  People mention death and taxes as two constants, but I offer up cleaning as a third.  No matter what you clean today, something else or worse--the same thing, will need cleaning tomorrow.  Even if somebody despises cleaning more than I and is fortunate not to live with someone who demands cleaning, that person must still admit something in their abode can be cleaned.

I offer up dishes.  We use them everyday, so I have to clean them.  Luckily we have a dishwashing machine, but we still have dishes that aren't dishwasher safe (thereby my nemesis) and of course these are the ones I use every day, like the salad bowl.  You ask, "Why not use a dishwasher friendly bowl?"  Well you heathen, I will remind you that our salad bowl is a very pretty gift from our wedding!!  It would be an absolute injustice and unloving to use another bowl.  I do have to clean my coffee pot and coffee accessories every day, but c'mon--this is my coffee we are talking about.

I didn't like the movie "The Breakup" with Jennifer Aniston and Vince Vaughn.  And it was not just because it was a Jennifer Aniston vehicle, however there was a poignant conversation that took place between the fictional couple in the movie.  Aniston's character was upset that Vaughn's character didn't want to clean the dishes.  This is important because it recognizes a gaping disconnect in many relationships.  Aniston wasn't upset that he didn't DO the dishes, she was more hurt by the fact that he didn't WANT to.  Vaughn's character was dumbfounded, "You want me to WANT to wash dishes?!  No man wants to wash dishes!!"  This is a major disconnect for Wifey and I as well.

As that I am still unemployed, my second responsibility after Aloysius, is keeping a clean apartment.  Somehow I have entered hell before dying.  But you know what?  I keep it clean because I fear the wrath of Wifey!  I've tattooed the acronym "WWWC" on my conscience--What Would Wifey Clean?  And yes I still leave off at least one thing every day but I'm getting  better.  Proof in point, I am now disgusted by my bed if it's not made.  Eight years ago, I probably couldn't even see my bed through the combination of dirty and clean clothes.  Now it is a priority for me.  It gets worse.  Sometimes when I'm half-ass cleaning the kitchen.  I'll walk away from a barely stained counter top or dusty appliance (did you know that appliances gather dust every single day?!  I know this now), but then I'll think "Would Wifey clean this?"  The answer is "yes" because she cleans every frigging thing.  So I'll walk back to the scene of the grime (ha ha, did you like that little pun?  I crack myself up sometimes), and proceed to scrub the dirt away. 

Truth be told, nowadays I like looking at a bed that's been made and a bright white kitchen with sparkling appliances.  Many of these times I know that I'm the reason (with a little bit of coaching and secondary work from the boss) for this cleanliness.   Still if Wifey or ANYONE wanted to clean in front of me I would be more than accomodating.

By the way, we are currently training Aloysius to clean up after himself when he eats and/or plays.  Unlike his father, he rather seems to enjoy it and is quite good at it.