Clean Freak Meets Her Match

I’m a clean freak but I’ve met my match. I’m sitting in the middle of my house, surrounded by dust. I could clean, but I’ve given up. Yes, I’ve thrown in the dust towel.

Usually, I spend Sundays lazing around, sleeping late, reading the Sunday New York Times, eating bagels (yes, that’s correct, bagels in the plural), and maybe, going for a walk. But this Sunday, in fact, this entire weekend, I was too befuddled to relax and yet, sadly, too defeated and deflated to try cleaning.

It’s all because our house is under assault. Well, not really, but that is how it feels. In truth, it’s just Construction Zone Central.

Each morning, starting at 7:30 a.m. workmen arrive and start hammering, drilling, ripping out tile and flooring, applying sheetrock and drywall, and installing electrical outlets. The pounding and noise are non-stop. It’s so bad my migraines have migraines!

I must say, I didn’t know what I was signing up for when we bought this house. I thought it looked pretty good. Originally, we planned to paint a few rooms, buy new carpeting, and do “a little updating” here and there.

But then Handsome Hubby had a few additional ideas, and I thought, “What the heck. He has good taste. After all, he married me.”

So, I gave him free rein. Now, it’s like that children’s story, If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, which describes a slippery slope in which a winsome rodent asks for a glass of milk, then a straw, then a mirror to make sure he doesn’t have a milk mustache and on and on it goes.

Game On

And yes, I jumped into this remodel-a-rama by adding a few, modest requests of my own. Soon, it became a design face-off between HH and me.

“So, you want a bookshelf in your office,” I said arching my eyebrow. “Well, fine. I want two shelves in mine!”

The “punch” list, they don’t call it that for nothing, kept growing.

We ripped out an off-center fireplace for a big, new one — energy-efficient, of course. Cabinets in the kitchen came out, replaced by more modern, open shelves. Next on the chopping block: old windows for more energy-efficient ones.

Our contractor actually winces each time we begin a sentence with the words, “Hey, what do you think if we … ”

Clean Freak Freak Out

Yet, while HH dreams and designs, I dust and sweep, wipe and weep. The workmen think I’m a stalker.

That said, we have established a clear worker-housewife workflow: They produce tornados of dust. I follow close behind. And, as quickly as the construction dust and debris hit the floor, window sill, or counter, I attack.

My weapons of choice? Swiffer, rag, and vacuum. Yet, even though my arsenal is vast, dust is winning.

Peace and Quiet

As for Handsome Hubby? He is way smarter than I am. Tomorrow the workmen come to rip out the “old” hardwood and rock (don’t ask) floors. Meanwhile, HH is winging his way to Washington, D.C. to give a speech.

He returns in three days, just in time to wave “bye-bye” to the dump truck hauling away the old floor — and also, the nice men hauling me to the rest home for some dust-free peace and quiet.

🏚️ 🏚️ 🏚️

This week’s photo: our former master bedroom flooring awaiting that dump truck.