Once upon a time, in a land far, far away I had a clean house.
I remember returning from a lovely walk by the mill with my friend Pauline, Little J and our dogs on a sunny day. As I put my son for his midday nap, I would start my routine. Vacuuming the hideous blue carpets, tidying up toys, dusting the fireplace mantle. I would look out the window in the study as I straightened up the paperwork to spy my dog sleeping in the back yard. I remember the big water calc stain in the shower floor that never went away. The smell of white vinegar as I cleaned it. The crisp air of the english country side on an early spring afternoon coming through the wide open windows, filling up the rooms. I would stop to look at my neighbor across the road, hiding behind the curtain so she does not notice me as she struggles with her four year old son. Thinking I would never allow my boy to act that way. Never.
Then I would check on him, sleeping in his crib, dreaming peacefully. I knew there was at least an hour left before he was ready to wake up. I would go downstairs, make my self a cup of tea and snuggle up in my reading chair under a cozy blanket. Flipping through my favorite catalogues, wishing for new wellies and a tweet jacket. Big M would knock on the french windows and I let him in. He slept under my feet and I we were there. On a sunny spring day in a small English town.
I thought of all this as I cleaned the house today. The silly song of the dryer indicating the cycle was finished brought me back. The guilt washed over me as I realized it has been an hour since I asked my husband to take our boy and dog to the beach so I can tidy up. I was no where near done and I planned to sit down and read some blogs I have been neglecting before they return. I thought about texting him to grab me a cup of coffee from drive thru to buy myself a few extra minutes and get my daily treat too. I rushed to wash the floors quick as I reasoned against the coffee.
Sometimes I really miss who I used to be.