“I’m coming over, and we’re going to clean your playroom.”

This statement was not made by an adult.  This is what my cousin, who is only two and a half years older than I am, said to me when we were kids.  He lived across the street, and I don’t know if the thought of my messy playroom lurking across the court was keeping him up at night, or if my parents put him up to it.  I think it was his idea.  I let him.  It got messy again.  And then I think he gave up on me.  I’m sure there was a Kenny Rogers soundtrack running through his head.

I was always a messy child.  Or so I was told.  I don’t remember it that way – I apparently had the same ability to see through piles of junk and think it looks like carpet that my own children have.  I’m having our family superhero crest designed right now – I’m just stuck on how to combine a landfill and x-ray vision into artwork.  

I was something of a Serene Superstar, without the superstar part.  Unless you count the ability to con my relatives into doing my cleaning for me, which takes special talent:



When I went off to university I became obsessed with being tidy.  My housemates started calling me “Monica” and possibly sleeping with crucifixes under their pillows.  Spotless Emperor seems like a more royal title.


After university, my husband and I moved five hours away to Ottawa.  We were working all the time with crazy overtime hours.  The kitchen became a place to dump dishes, eat cold cereal, and whip together a sandwich to take to the office.  When we did have time off, we wanted to spend it relaxing or going out–not cleaning.  But then we would get the call that friends or family were coming to stay with us.  I think that is the only thing that kept our house from being condemned, because we would fly into panic-cleaning mode – it had to be done fast and be spotless.  We cleaned in Perfect Storm mode.



Eventually we moved back to my hometown and had three kids in less than two years.  Once we emerged from the torture that is colic, I started working from home and we hired a nanny and kept the cleaning service that we had started using when I was pregnant with the twins.  Our house was always clean and tidy.  I try to remember what it was like – when the kids were too little to have very much stuff and make giant messes.  When I didn’t have to clean toilets.  When I could tell someone to clean up the kitchen, and they had to do it without an eye-roll.  I think it was bliss, but something like a mirage, I can’t quite reach the memory.  I also can’t pay a therapist to retrieve the memory because we spent all our money.  I appeared to be a Domestic Diva.


Fast forward to my life now.  Which of these Kitchen Clean-up Rockstars do you think I am today?

It’s actually secret option (e) – Hot Mess Anxiety Girl.  I don’t think we want to see the drawing for that.

I’m some awful combination of all of these cleaning personalities.  I want my house to be spotless…my heart just fluttered…I’m not sure if that’s love or an impending medical trauma.  But I don’t want to spend any time on it because I hate cleaning.  No one can come over.  Ever.  I may even booby trap my porch.  Actually, it’s broken so that job’s done.  There just aren’t enough hours in the day to have a clean house and do anything else.  And it gets undone before I’m even finished.

One job that I try to stay on top of is the kitchen.  I haven’t mastered the art of making lunches at night yet, but I try to make sure the kitchen is clean before I go to bed, because I know I’ll regret it in the morning without any clean containers or space to prep.  But I’m so tired.  And the kids have been impossible to get to bed, so I have to make sure that I get the kitchen done before that.

Luckily it’s been easier with the OrbitClean® Spray arm and DishSense™Technology features of the Frigidaire Gallery OrbitClean® Dishwasher.  I don’t have to do a multi-step process of soaking, scraping, and praying over the cutlery before I load it into the dishwasher, like I did with my old one.  It fits a ton of dishes in it (that’s a rough estimate – my scale stops at “metric whack”), so I have less to hand-wash or hide in the yard.  Much to the disappointment of the wildlife under the deck.  And when the dishes come out of the dishwasher they can go right into the cupboard instead of the trash bin.

What?  A girl can only rewash a dish so many times!

A strainer used for pasta comes out clean the first time.  I'm kind of wishing you couldn't see my reflection in it though because I think I was in my pajamas when I took this picture.
A strainer used for pasta comes out clean the first time. I’m kind of wishing you couldn’t see my reflection in it though because I think I was in my pajamas when I took this picture.
frigidaire gallery dishwasher
I can fit my pots and pans – even on the top rack! No more “letting it soak” which really means, “hoping someone steals the pots while I turn my back.”


So while the rest of my house still looks “lived in” at least my kitchen is clean at the start of every day.  As for the rest of my house…I wonder what my cousin is up to these days?

Disclosure:  I am part of the Frigidaire Canada Ambassador program with Mom Central Canada and I receive special perks as part of my affiliation with this group.  The opinions on this blog are my own.


Tara is gainfully employed by the toughest 3 female bosses she has ever had (well except for that one accounting manager who hated her). The pay sucks, but the cuddles are awesome. She drinks a lot of coffee, uses humour as a defense mechanism, and lives in fear of what lurks in her backyard. Keep Tara company on her unfortunately-named blog Don’t Lick the Deck, where she talks about her husband Nerdguy; her 10 year old and twin 8 year old girls; parenting autism and ADHD; and her inability to shop without creating disaster. She is regular contributor to Parentdish.ca who have not yet filed a restraining order.

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