Martha Stewart Does NOT Live Here.

29 Jul

Everyone does it. Don’t pretend you’re better than me, because you do it, too.

We live moderately messy lives. We let dishes pile up, we allow toys to take over every horizontal surface, and we sometimes forget to dust the high corners where the cobwebs party.

But God forbid a guest comes to your house, and you speed clean every single surface to pretend that you live a Martha Stewart lifestyle.

If it’s an overnight guest, chances are the mess will just return. Toys will make their way back to the floor. Dishes will become dirty in droves as all these extra people eat in your home. The sparkling floors will resume their dingy states. But we’re so self-conscious about how we present ourselves to our friends and family (because who keeps house guests they don’t like? I certainly don’t!) that we’re willing to kill ourselves to impress them. Or maybe not impress them, but at least convince them that we’re tidy.

I started to ponder these things as I prepared my house for Blondie and The Little Drummer Boy’s arrival tomorrow. Why did I bust out the handheld steamer to eradicate those tiny stains from the sofa? What difference does it make if my mother and brother see Cheerios stuck to the wall? They know I have a toddler. They know I’m a busy, working mother. They understand that my husband spends every waking moment following Pterodactyl around and cleaning up the immediate messes. Why do I care so much?

The only thing I can deduce from my Swiffer frenzy is that company gives me an excuse to do a good, deep clean that I otherwise would put off. How often do I take the time to scrub and organize the fridge? Not until some food rots and makes a mess of its surface do I actually remove the drawers and clean them. Would I even bother renting a carpet shampooer if these people weren’t going to walk barefoot on it? Probably not; it’s just a magnet for more flying food, courtesy of my little terrorist.

I’m pleased to report that my house still looks like a construction zone, complete with one sock (yes, just one) here and there, its mate nowhere to be found. My family arrives in T-24 hours, and I’ve got nothing to show for it, save for a few recipes I’ve pinned to Pinterest in anticipation of tomorrow night’s dinner. I guess I’ll wipe the counters of the sticky soy milk and load the dishwasher. But I’ve decided to take a stand against cleaning for proper impressions. Buddy and I are messy folks. We clean for cleanliness sake (and to remind the tropical bugs that they’re unwelcome here), but we’re no longer going to put on a mask of Donna Reed perfection and act like we run a smooth ship.

Because the reality is, our ship is littered with talking stuffed animals and halves of grapes.

And that’s just how we like it.

Advertisements

4 Responses to “Martha Stewart Does NOT Live Here.”

  1. I.R. July 29, 2012 at 7:03 pm #

    Hah! Little Drummer Boy won’t notice, and wouldn’t, as you make us know him: if there’s no snoochie available and willing, he’s unaware as long as he’s nourished from time to time and can get his ten or twelve hours per day nap in. Blondie? Not to worry. She’ll just summon the servants (“the help”).

    Wait! You mean . . . that’s not Blondie’s M.O. any more? Then, all else aside (and “all” is an awful lot), it was a success after all!

    Sweet Jay-zuhs!

    (How do I know these things, some of you might ask? Look up. Do you see me? Well, just because you don’t doesn’t mean I don’t see you . . .)

    Remember the line(s) from “Little Shop of Horrors;” “Cook like Betty Crocker, look like Dnna Reed . . .”

  2. Jennifer Worrell August 4, 2012 at 4:13 pm #

    I love the hell out of this! Congrats on being real! I think the sock that matches yours is at my house!

    • daisyandviolet August 5, 2012 at 9:59 am #

      Thanks for reading and commenting!
      Wanna send that sock back? LoL!

      Violet

      • Jennifer Worrell August 5, 2012 at 10:04 pm #

        The dog chewed a hole in it…sorry:(

We'd love to hear your thoughts

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: