As great as the response was on the cleaning sisterhood, it may take some time to organize my sisterhood, so as a short term solution I enlisted Jeff to clean the bathroom in preparation his mother's visit this Friday. I'm all, you know your mother, you know how to clean to please her, you do it. And he's all, okay. And I'm all gearing up for the series of reminders and such that I will have to give him and then last night he just trots out from WASHING THE DISHES (the significance of which should be itself a separate post), bucket in hand, and starts scrubbing the bathroom floor on his hands and knees. Seriously, that's what he did. I love him.
And I'm sitting there, not cleaning--had done plenty that day myself--listening to him scrub. But it was seriously hard to do. Listen to someone else cleaning while trying to relax. How did the last 800 million years of men do it? Come home and relax while their women tuttled around cleaning up around them? I was UNCOMFORTABLE.
I resisted telling him that he didn't REALLY have to do it--that being willing to was enough, love you sweetie blah blah. Because it really did need it. It makes me wince just thinking about how long it had been.
Then I wanted to do parallel clean with him--you know, scrub the tub or something. I resisted!
Then I wanted to stop him and tell him he's done enough--I didn't do such a good job of resisting that because seriously he would have been up all night scrubbing the darn floor with a toothbrush. Once that man starts something, it's going to be perfect.
Anyway. I could eat off my bathroom floor today. But I still don't understand how all those generations did it. Or maybe the women just cleaned before the men got home, to spare this awkward encounter.