I am a control freak. I admit it. I like things done MY way. I don't mean I control people and their behavior. But I do like to control the way the house runs, how it looks, how it's cleaned. I am definitely a freak about it, perhaps even nutty. People always say I should have my kids help wash dishes, clean bathrooms, do the laundry. WHAT?? Are they crazy?? Nobody will do it like I do. If it's not done MY way, won't the world as I know it end?? So, I stress myself out weekly, trying to get it all done, MY way. No help.
So, here is the trouble with MY way... first of all, I am not teaching my kids anything. #1 is getting ready to go to college. He has never washed the dishes (Unloaded dishwasher, yes. Loaded, no. Hand washed dishes, no), he has never cleaned a bathroom, never done laundry. My cleaning control issues are stunting my kids ability to be self sufficient. I have failed at this.
The other problem is that my way means starting in one corner of a room, touching every object, dusting/cleaning it. Opening each cabinet and drawer, reorganizing it. Dusting/cleaning each surface. It takes me too much time and is unnecessary. I end up each week with stuff we no longer need or use or I changed my mind. This pile goes to the basement. I don't always have the time, or make the time to do this type of housework each week. Then I stress that I didn't get it done. The really bad thing is that if I don't have time to clean this way, I don't clean at all. Ok, wait, my house is not dirty. It is a clean house and tidy too. When I say I don't clean at all, I mean MY way of cleaning which I think I have established is NUTTY!! The bottom line is that my basement is overflowing with stuff that needs to be sorted, but by the time I get through the rest of the house, I don't have the energy to get to the basement. Seriously, I have issues.
The reason I am writing about my messed up sense of cleaning is this...I have 3 teenagers. They need to learn to clean a house, take care of it. The basics, not the crazy Mom way. Also, because they are teenagers, they no longer want me cleaning their rooms. I am allowed to go in to change sheets and I'll vacuum if I can see the floor, but that is it. Kids #2 and 3 are girls. When I ask them to pick up their rooms or I'll do it, they throw everything in their closet and dust. OK, whatever, it looks better. #1 is a boy. When I ask him to pick up his room he tells me it's fine. This past Saturday he was gone all weekend. The dust in his room was starting to look like fur. The floor hadn't been vacuumed for awhile. To some people, maybe this is no big deal. To a control freak cleaner like me it was making my trigger finger VERY itchy. The time had come, I was going in. I cranked up some music, put a smile on my face and dug in. Now, I did have a voice in my head saying "He's going to be mad." I justified it by saying "I was helping him". I moved some furniture to make the room easier to maneuver around. I dusted, I folded all the clothes and put them back in the dresser. I didn't throw away anything aside from candy and granola bar wrappers (So THIS is where they all go!) I piled papers and magazines and books. I was NOT nosy, I folded and stacked and dusted and vacuumed. The room looked so much better. I was satisfied. Then HE came home.
The voice in my head was wrong. He wasn't mad. He was LIVID! He said he felt violated. I understood that. I couldn't get him to see that the furry dust was no longer ignorable. I did what any good Mom would do and intervene. Lots of words were exchanged. Things were said. It's a blur. I was wrong, I see that. It is his room, but it is also my house. I can't handle furry dust. The last thing he said was something like "I need to get away (or grow away) from you sometime." Well, that stung. Bad. I am not ready for this. I'm not ready for him to leave. In hind sight, my cleaning sneak attack was possibly a way to stay connected to my "no longer my baby" boy. My days of doing things like this for him are numbered. It makes me sad.
While still feeling the sting of his words, I walked out of his room, I might have slammed his door. I walked down the stairs, put on my coat and boots and announced I was going for a walk. My feelings were so hurt. I set myself up for the hurt.
I don't normally leave like this. I just couldn't breathe. I needed to escape. As I walked I decided life was messy and I had just run out of Bounty. In my head I bought some more Bounty (and Ben and Jerry's for good measure) and returned home.I needed to clean up my mess. Not the housework mess (seriously, his room looked great!) but the emotional mess. I decided that life is not only messy, but it hurts sometimes too. It's like Garth Brooks sings "I could have missed the pain, but I'd of had to miss the dance." And I do love dancing.
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