Those Pesky Little Chores

I love it when company comes, especially people I don’t get to see often. In this case, my cousin and his wife, whom I’ve seen only four times in the last forty or more years are heading to the Sunshine State next weekend.

They’ve never seen our home. Never. Oh, my! Don’t want to make a bad impression on them. That means I must get busy and do all those pesky little chores that tend to accumulate over time.  The ones to which you become “blind” so you don’t have to admit that they exist. You know what I mean. A screen on the porch that the dog has plowed through needs to be replaced. The kitchen sink should be recaulked. When was the last time I dusted my china cabinet or cleaned out my bottom cupboards?

Dog hair? Oh, don’t talk to me about dog hair; those short blonde hairs that are nearly impossible to see against my beige tile floors until they form a blanket and you go sliding across the room in your stocking feet. And we won’t mention the accumulation on the air conditioning intake filter and the vacuum cleaner.

The third  bedroom? Yeah, the one that’s become a storage closet with boxes of stuff all over the bed. Ah! Guess I’m going to have to do something with that, too. Need to provide a better-than-a-hotel place to rest.

Reminds me of times when my kids were little. With three young boys in a house of only about a thousand square feet, it was a challenge to keep things tidy. When this mom insisted that the house be perfectly clean and neat, the automatic response from the boys was “Who’s coming?” Guilt pangs. Do my kids really think the only time I ever clean anything is when company’s coming?

I would never win a Good Housekeeping award, I can assure you. But I’ve at least managed to keep the top layer of dirt off, the dishes from becoming moldy,  and the laundry mostly done. My motto was: If they’re coming to see me, fine. If they’re coming to see my dirt, they needn’t bother.

So why stress over it now? I no longer have young children at home, don’t work a full-time job anymore,  no more justification of why I couldn’t pass the “white glove test.” Oh! They’ll be here in four days? Guess it’s time to stop procrastinating. If you’ll excuse me, I’d best get to work.

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