“Let me know when Michelle and Barack arrive” smirked my son
as I was frantically cleaning my house for the arrival of my parents one
weekend back in October. Maybe it’s just me, but I always tend to see how
almost uninhabitable my house looks just before company is due to show up and
then I launch into crazy-panic-cleaning-mode. My mom and dad aren’t judgy
people by any means but whenever they (or anyone else for that matter) are
coming over I always feel compelled to make my house look like, well, we don’t
live there. I’m not kidding. A few years ago I insisted we buy new carpet
shortly before it was my turn to have the euchre group over to our house. It
was one thing to have my family see my filthy carpet, but my friends and
co-workers? Absolutely not. On this particular occasion it was Tom’s birthday
and it had literally been over a year since we had had any company at all. It
doesn’t matter that I have someone who cleans my house twice a month because
these visits, whether planned in advance or not, always happen long after the
crisp smell of my freshly cleaned house fades. After the dog hair shows up in
clumps on the couch. After the socks have reclaimed their resting place on the
living room floor. I headed downstairs to grab those plates I use for
entertaining that now need to be washed because it’s been so long since I’ve
entertained that they’re dirty from just sitting on the shelf, and I noticed those
random “spring cleaning” type jobs that I never notice unless company is due to
arrive in less than 45 minutes. As one thing after another popped up, I ran
around frantically barking orders with a Swiffer in one hand and a dirty sock
in the other, and my husband gave the kids that “Mom’s having her usual
company’s coming melt down” look while calmly saying to me,
“No, we don’t have time repaint the
entire first floor. The house looks fine. Go take a shower.”
I really don’t know why I get so worked up when people are
coming over but I do it all the time. The other day a friend had to stop by and
drop something off. She wasn’t coming in any further than the foyer but I lit a
candle then got the vacuum out and not only vacuumed the living room, but the
living room furniture, the upstairs hall, and balcony because I suddenly
noticed the dog hair that I don’t usually see. I’m not sure if, after all of
that, my house would be clean enough to host the Obamas, but I am sure my
parents appreciated the effort and I hope someday, when my kids are visitors,
that they will too.
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