I have a play list on my iPod titled "Saturday Morning Cleaning."
When my sisters and I were growing up, Saturday morning was spent cleaning.
No questions asked. Bottom line. Purple suit and all.
Oh wait. You don't know about the purple suit. I'll explain further down.
We'd get to sleep in until mom and dad deemed enough, at which point they would turn on the stereo system and play praise and worship music and come wake us up. Mom or dad would have cooked us a breakfast of either pancakes, eggs, waffles, bacon, or breakfast tacos (a treat, considering M-F was normally cereal, oatmeal, etc) and on the table would be "The List"
Sometimes we'd get "The List" before breakfast and sometimes after. Because, really....who wants to ruin a perfectly good breakfast with "The List."
(I have to interject, even as I'm writing this...I'm just remembering how incredible my childhood was. Seriously. I had the best childhood a kid could ask for.)
We'd enjoy breakfast and then mom would let us review "The List."
The list would have three names written across the top....Lisa, Melinda, Caralyn.
Underneath our names was the list of chores we had to finish before we could play.
Breakfast would be cleaned up and at this point, the praise and worship music would be turned up loud and we'd all begin our chores.
When I say we did this 'every' Saturday- I mean it. EVERY Saturday.
Of course there were chores we hated.
Mom did a good job of splitting them up in regards to fairness. We always had different ones. No one always had to clean the toilet or tub. No one always had to dust or vacuum. We did always have to clean our own rooms but that was the only chore that was the same every week.
Except for Caralyn. Ooooooh Caralyn. This girl usually had 'clean room' under her list and that would be it. Because for Caralyn, it wasn't cleaning unless it meant taking EVERYTHING out of her closet and rearranging it and putting it all back together again. Or taking out EVERY barbie, dressing her up, and putting her back in the box. Or taking everything out from underneath her bed, organizing, and putting it back.
But seriously- does THIS look like a face that you would ever want to tell "clean the bathroom!"
Either way- we cleaned. And if we didn't clean correctly, mom (who would normally be wearing her purple workout suit) would come in, tell us how we didn't clean it well enough and how, when we repeat the work we'd just done, to do it correctly
Thus, making the purple suit NOT our favorite outfit of hers.
But all that aside, our home was clean. Our home smelled good, and our house was inviting to those in our neighborhood.
This morning as I'm drinking my coffee, listening to my Saturday Morning Cleaning play list, and scrubbing, I'm reminded how grateful I am for my mom.
She taught us not only to be women that presented ourselves well, but taught us to present our homes well. She taught me that you don't just clean the toilet bowl, but you get down on hands and knees and you clean BEHIND the toilet. You clean the outside of the toilet bowl. She taught me (much to my frustration as this was my least favorite chore) you don't just vacuum in the middle of the room where everyone walks. You take that attachment and suck the life out of any dust particles that could be in corners and baseboards. She taught me that a tub is not clean unless you use comet on that badboy and scrub til your hands are gonna fall off. She taught me that just putting stuff in your closet is not enough. Organization is key.Most importantly, she taught us how to make our homes inviting. How to create a warmth in our homes that people wanted to be a part of.
As I was down on all hands and knees cleaning the bathroom this morning, I was reminded how grateful I am for the practices she helped set in place that would help me as a grown woman enjoy a living space that is clean and inviting.
Thanks mom! I dedicate THIS Saturday morning to you! :-)