I have no choice but to live vicariously through all of your thrilling cleaning excursions right now, so don't let me down. I want to hear of dust pleading for its life, of landslide laundry victories, of unexpected sojourns in a random and scary cupboard, and I CERTAINLY want you to know that my stupid body holds no truck for pain and that I did in fact kick my house's ass all over the place two days ago, in a frenzy the likes of which I can't even recall.
What could motivate a cripple, stewing in my own OCD fury, in 100 degrees, to grab my Sonic Scrubber (I LOVE YOU DYAN!) and scour L-I-T-E-R-A-L-L-Y every surface in the house, reachable or not? I'll tell you.
You may have gathered that being confined is as tolerable to me as ... well, it isn't tolerable. I have a crazy high pain threshold and have busted stitches post-op, thinking, "If I can endure it, I can do it." Aren't I an idiot? But when the actual pain dictates my mobility, and leaves me with virtually none, I am ferocious. Every speck of dirt is a boulder, the dog is clearly a carrier of thousands of parasites, everything is crooked. It sucks. So I was in the most cheerful of summertime spirits and got into an argument with Todd, who was so devoted to hearing my complex argument for being right that he went outside to do his garden whispering thing. Naturally, I followed him out. I can handle many responses, but indifference is not to be borne. Yet this is his default mode. In case you didn't know, this equals me yelling across the patio about the all-important PRINCIPLE, something I believe Y-chromosomes don't always comprehend nor appreciate with the same passion as women. Or he was just done arguing...I was upset that Reilly hadn't completed her chore list before her appointment, and of his stand-by responses, he chose "Mag, it's not the end of the world." Oh Lord. Don't ever say this to me. During the life lesson I felt compelled, yet again, to impart to him, there was a baby crying next door. After 20 minutes or so, it really felt like the baby had been crying too long, but who goes over to their sweet 70+ year old neighbour Bev, who has several grown children and grandchildren to inquire as to a crying baby. After about 10 more minutes, Todd and I looked at each other sharing an intuition that we needed to do more than yell over this baby. He peeked into her driveway to discover the ubiquitous Dodge Ram belonging to her son, and his 18 month old son in the back seat, alone, screaming. Our hearts raced. I was some couch urchin, so he raced over. He poked his head into the truck and said "It's okay baby, they're coming!" He pounded on Bev's door, and her grandson answered. He is a very nice young man. Todd said "You need to get your baby man!" And the guy's face turned white. It seems they had pulled up while Baby was sleeping, meant to be inside for a couple minutes, and time got away, and they didn't hear him. OMG. Totally innocent. But we could not get over seeing that poor little curly-headed boy crying in the blazing heat for his parents. He was okay, they thanked Todd profusely, and got their son out. Todd and I immediately shared a relief for that baby and for the safety of our own kids, which begat an unspoken halt to the argument, and hugs for the kids, who were also sad for that baby. "What if you hadn't been out there?" "What if you had been too shy to look?" My adrenaline was pumping so hard all I could do was scrub every millimeter of the house. I couldn't help it. What if what if what if = the bzzzzzzzzzzzzzz of my Scrubber, and a house too legit to quit.
So today, while I may not be manic, I have done the work, and I still want to hear what you did, and how you get motivated and/or stay motivated. Lethargy and quitting are looming large for some Moxlings, and we mustn't succumb to the elements or to dust! (Right Gail?)
Kiss your babies, and grab one of these. I swear to the almighty that this will MAKE you want to clean: