Clean up, clean up, everybody, everywhere

Wow, did I just get my feelings hurt. Or something.

My across-the-street neighbor has been having an interesting life lately. She’s been staying home with her three kids while her husband worked swing shifts; the kids are 9, 5, and 2. They moved in just before Will was born, so almost three years ago, and I’ve gotten to know her because her daughter and mine are good friends--and she is a lonely woman. Nothing like being cooped up all day with three little kids to drive you nuts, especially when cleaning is your only recreational activity. I don’t like her husband, and it’s not hard to see that he’s not any company for her.

She decided this summer that was enough, and left with their children. She went back to work, and was so excited to have grown people to talk to again--and I remember that feeling. She would bring the kids back when her husband had his days off, and leave them for long visits--she was working by then, so much busier than she had been. About a month ago she decided to move back in, and they’re going to counseling together. I think things turned around when her husband asked her how on earth she’d kept the house clean and taken care of the kids at the same time. It doesn’t always take a lot, you know.

Anyhow, she came over to pick her daughter up a while ago, and I was folding clothes for the eighth time today. Laundry Saturday, woo hoo. The rest of the house is basically a pig sty, as my mother would no doubt describe it, although I’ve been working on it while I’m not doing clothes. And my neighbor looks around and says, “I feel so at home here! I never understood how hard it was to keep the house clean when you work!”

Now I guess I should take this as the kind of enlightenment she’s happy about her husband having--she finally understands. But instead I have this image of her spending three years looking at my dirty house and thinking I’m a slob. I wish I could be one of those glass-half-full people. Sigh.