The dirt on cleaning
When someone asked me what I was going to do this past Friday night, I cringed a bit when giving my answer. I mean really, who wants to admit that they are going to be cleaning?
The truth is when the bathroom mirror gets spotted with flecks of water or toothpaste or when it becomes impossible to ignore all the gray clumps of dust and hair lurking in the corners of rooms, I don't care what day it is or what it reveals about my social calendar. The bucket of cleaning supplies needs to be taken down from laundry room shelf and the grungy clothes needs to be adorn to remove the dirt.
I thought I was pretty good at doing chores- heck, when I was a kid I would fold my dirty laundry in the hamper and in college you could always tell which side of the dorm room I inhabited because there was never anything on the floor.
Even now, I dedicate every other weekend to cleaning. I thought I had the upper hand on this whole dirt thing but last Friday night I learned the ugly truth. There is no such thing as total cleanliness. A mess will always find its way into creation.
I was running the dish washer late that night. The churn and swashing of water had died away and the low ticking noise had begun, signifying the end of the cycle. When I went into the kitchen to rinse a cup in the sink, I looked down to see my feet submerged in a pool of soapy foam that had leaked from the dish washer.
Grabbing an old bathroom towel, I mopped up the soap puddle and started to speed read through the instruction manual for the appliance, hoping to find some section dedicated to what to do when the dish washer erupts soap and water. I found no answers so I called the one person I knew who would - my father.
He came the next day, and studying the manual himself and running the appliance concluded that I may have used the wrong type of detergent and perhaps too much of it. Looking at my dishwasher and other kitchen appliances, my father also bestowed this advice - the stainless steel surfaces had in fact become stained with cleaner streaks. I should fix that.
I have to admit, he was right. I had never noticed before but it was if the sunlight had lifted a curtain and unveiled every smear and splotch that had landed on the oven, fridge and dishwasher.
It makes me wonder what other messes and secret dirt fester without my knowledge. Although I shouldn't worry; they'll jump out of hiding sooner or later. No matter; I have a bucket overflowing with cleaners ready and waiting.
The truth is when the bathroom mirror gets spotted with flecks of water or toothpaste or when it becomes impossible to ignore all the gray clumps of dust and hair lurking in the corners of rooms, I don't care what day it is or what it reveals about my social calendar. The bucket of cleaning supplies needs to be taken down from laundry room shelf and the grungy clothes needs to be adorn to remove the dirt.
I thought I was pretty good at doing chores- heck, when I was a kid I would fold my dirty laundry in the hamper and in college you could always tell which side of the dorm room I inhabited because there was never anything on the floor.
Even now, I dedicate every other weekend to cleaning. I thought I had the upper hand on this whole dirt thing but last Friday night I learned the ugly truth. There is no such thing as total cleanliness. A mess will always find its way into creation.
I was running the dish washer late that night. The churn and swashing of water had died away and the low ticking noise had begun, signifying the end of the cycle. When I went into the kitchen to rinse a cup in the sink, I looked down to see my feet submerged in a pool of soapy foam that had leaked from the dish washer.
Grabbing an old bathroom towel, I mopped up the soap puddle and started to speed read through the instruction manual for the appliance, hoping to find some section dedicated to what to do when the dish washer erupts soap and water. I found no answers so I called the one person I knew who would - my father.
He came the next day, and studying the manual himself and running the appliance concluded that I may have used the wrong type of detergent and perhaps too much of it. Looking at my dishwasher and other kitchen appliances, my father also bestowed this advice - the stainless steel surfaces had in fact become stained with cleaner streaks. I should fix that.
I have to admit, he was right. I had never noticed before but it was if the sunlight had lifted a curtain and unveiled every smear and splotch that had landed on the oven, fridge and dishwasher.
It makes me wonder what other messes and secret dirt fester without my knowledge. Although I shouldn't worry; they'll jump out of hiding sooner or later. No matter; I have a bucket overflowing with cleaners ready and waiting.
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