beautiful noise

Right now, I can't hear my music on the computer as I work downstairs because of the noise coming from upstairs. And I don't care one bit. Why? Because the noise upstairs is of the beautiful sounds of a vacuum cleaner working on my dog-hair, cat-hair, baby-food, dust-covered wood floors and rugs. And the wonderful noise of three housecleaners deep-cleaning my kitchen and bathroom. And the awesome sounds of my furniture being moved around so that the floors can be cleaned. Oh, the beauty of it all. I just feel calmer sitting here. More relaxed. Joyously happy even. I have a smile on my face. I want to get up and jump up and down.

I finally gave in, after three months of trying to clean my own house in an attempt to make-up for having gone to a part-time nonprofit (i.e., major pay cut) job in December. In those three months, I vacuumed once. I tried to mop once. I practically cried in the aisle of Target as I was overwhelmed with all the mops and cleaning supplies. I scrubbed my toilet once. And then, this past week, when the dog tracked in mud and leaves and I found J. eating a leaf on the floor, and I realized that the cost of the cleaners was equal to only about 4 hours of my work hours, and it took about 3-4 hours for me to really clean house, and I realized that I was incredibly stressed about how dirty my floors, bathroom, and carpets had gotten and I had to choose between playing with J, working, or cleaning, I cried "uncle" and gave in. I know when I'm beat, and I'm not ashamed to admit that I can't do it all.

I am going to walk upstairs in about 2 hours and find my house looking like it did back in November, when I last had it professionally cleaned, and I will do a little dance and might even hug the cleaners.

And then, they will be back in two weeks. And two weeks after that. And continue coming until I say stop.