Take my apron, please!


I have GOT to get a real job….

… a job where I can park my butt in a cubicle or some cramped office and clack away at my computer. Where I’m appreciated. And PAID!

I just finished cleaning the cellar which serves as a laundry room/storage area/office space/kids’ playroom.

The cellar had reached a new standard for filth and dust-bunny accumulation. It didn’t help that we use it as a dumping ground for toys, sporting equipment, winter clothing, paint cans, muddy shoes, furniture….

The place was a pigsty and each time I walked across the floor, my feet felt….well, gritty. Gross.

So Martin and I tackled the room this morning. Five hours later, every toy has been put in its place, 12 loads of laundry have been washed and folded, and the floor is swept, scrubbed and mopped.

I, on the other hand, am sweaty and grimy. My jeans are stained and my hands are scorched by bleach. Really, I can’t imagine how the housewife of the fifties tackled laundry, scrubbed the kitchen and picked up after her family day after day…and while wearing a dress, no less. Pure insanity!

Now that the cellar is clean, I don’t want anyone to set foot in it. In fact, I think it might be wise to clean each room, and then close it to habitation. Then we can just live in the barn, or better yet, pitch a tent and camp in the yard!