Zestfully Clean

Years ago, my friends had this cake made for me for my birthday.  I hate to say it, but I get a rush from using Clorox.  There's nothing that makes things cleaner.  In fact, I can remember moving into a new apartment and pouring straight bleach on the tile bathroom floor, putting a rag over my face and blindly scrubbing.  When I was younger, I probably had OCD... making sure the spigots were shiny and had no fingerprints or spots on them... no dust on my black furniture... and the infamous lines in the carpet  (Brad can attest to this (when he lived with me temporarily)).  I used to jump from throw rug to throw rug so as not to get a footprint mashed down on the carpet.  I'm happy to say that I have outgrown most of that, but I do still like things clean... especially the kitchen and bathroom.

Living with my Dad has been very challenging in all ways, but most especially when it comes to cleanliness.  After all, it did take me a year to clean out his house from ten years of mess.  Having moved into a brand new place, I feel compelled to keep it clean even more and I guess I equate that to not losing control.  But when I am mostly in my room, working or down at camp, my Dad has free range of the house and uses every square inch, including the guest bathroom, all points of the living room, his bedroom, kitchen, his sitting room and the dining room... and the deck.  You'd be surprised how much one little man with a toast fetish, a love for birds and prostate problems can make.  And so far, the only thing that I have put on him is taking the trash out, which most times, he forgets.  I started the dishwasher before I went to camp... TWO WEEKS AGO... and I just had to unload it last night when I got home from camp.  I hate for him to have to take a break from The Price is Right... but it's getting ridiculous.  And his bathroom is like a truckstop bathroom.  And I'm not sure if he changes his bed linens.  And the only time that I ever hear him take a shower is on Wednesday mornings before his senior group meeting.  How do you tell your 82 year old father to take a bath?  The worst part is that minutes after I clean the house, it's a mess again.

Most times, I'm too busy to worry about it, but coming home after a hectic massage weekend, being tired... I just would have liked to not have to come home to a disaster for once.  The bad thing about it is that I think that I created the situation.  Because I want things done a certain way, I just do things and expect nothing from him, and in turn, he does nothing.  I have no one to blame but myself.  This is going to sound terrible, but if we sold the house, I was going to get a cleaning person for a few months through the summer.  I know this is a cherished time for me (having my Dad around), but the idea of a small apartment by myself and shipping him off to Shady Pines Rest Home pops into my head more times than I'd like to admit per day.  In the meantime, call me Hazel.