Drudgery

I know I have said this many times, but once again I have to say, “I hate housework!” I like the result which lasts for about a half hour, but I hate the drudgery necessary to have a clean house.


Since Mr. Fixit retired, I have done very little cleaning—just enough to get by and to insure that the Health Department doesn't declare this address uninhabitable. When Mr. Fixit says, “Let's go!” I don't let the vaccuum keep at home. As long as he gets a home cooked meal every now and then and he has clean clothes, he doesn't mind the clutter and the dirty windows. In fact, sometimes he gets a little huffy with me when I start cleaning around him.

One of his sisters called Sunday evening and said they were thinking about coming to visist this weekend. What is wrong with these people? Don't they know I required at least two weeks notice just to clean and hide the clutter? She hasn't let us know yet for sure if they are coming so I have been cleaning like crazy. They are my in-laws after all. I think that after 45 years they still wonder if our marriage is going to last.

I have cleaned the carpets, scoured the burned-on debris from the stove, removed all the green fuzzy stuff out of the refrigerator, cleaned the windows, dusted, and removed the visible spider webs. I saw a few that were not conspicious so I left them alone. Spiders need a home, too, don't they?

Mr. Fixit offered to help, but to tell you the truth, he's slow as Christmas and he only does part of the job. He cleaned the bathroom downstairs, but he neglected to clean the floor in the hall leading to the bathroom when he did the bathroom floor. I had to finish that up. He replaced two tiles in the kitchen and that took half a day. I have been cleaning up and putting away the stuff he uses to “help.” He cleaned the ceiling fan in the living room and it turned into a major project. I sound ungrateful—I'm not.
Every little bit helps.

It's just about killed me though. I was thinking this morning about how all this work I was doing was the same stuff that I used to do once a week or more often when I was younger. I didn't consider it hard work or that tiring. Now I feel as if I can't put one foot in front of the other. I was telling Mr. Fixit that all this cleaning was what used to the just the usual. He said, “That's what happens when you get old.” That made me feel so much better.