Saturdays are always promising. It’s a “free” day for me. A day in which no schooling is done. A day in which I can choose my destiny. Early in my marriage, Saturdays were spent crafting in my sparkly clean house while my children played in their rooms or outside. Today is Saturday, and more often than not, I find myself cleaning. Cleaning! Before getting married I promised myself that I wouldn’t be “one of those women” who saved cleaning for Saturdays. In the beginning, it was easy. I cleaned a little everyday, followed my mother’s motto “a place for everything and everything in it’s place”, and I was always rewarded with a “free” Saturday. I prided myself on the readiness of my home to accept visitors at a moment’s notice. This cleanliness took place in rented homes across the country. I must mention the fact that in each of these homes was a storage closet or two and a shed or garage in which lived copious amounts of STUFF. Fast forward to today. We finally own our own home and my husband has forbidden me to stuff any more junk in the attic. I actually sorted and cleaned out the attic last week, but now there are piles of junk in the garage, which to my way of thinking is almost out the door.
There is something about home ownership that seems so final to me. I hesitate to store things away and I question every decision when finding a “place for everything” so much so that there are pockets of resisting clutter all over the house! This makes cleaning nearly impossible for me. Saturdays are spent first in battle with clutter and then actual cleaning. It’s exhausting, and I’ve come to dread Saturdays.
Two weeks ago, my sweet neighbor came over with an apple pie for us. I greeted her at the door with a smile on my face and kind words of thanks, but there was no way in the world I would let her into my (dare I say filthy?) home.
So today’s siren song is, again, set to the tune of cleaning; but I am hearing strains of a different song in the background that is heightening my anxiety. It sounds like sunshine, birdsong, and smells like basil. If you guessed spring, you are correct. If I don’t get the inside of my home sorted out, I won’t be able to keep up with all the gardening I plan on doing come spring. My solution is simple. I plan on having at least three Saturdays a week until I am good and ready. Oh, and I plan to enlist help. There are two other people in this house that will learn to hear the Siren’s song, but I’m also going to start singing it to my friends. I do have some sweet lady friends who love to help, especially in the advice giving department. I would love any advice or tips from anyone out there. Please help change Saturday’s Siren song to one that calls me to play or to lie in the sun with a good book!