THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: THURSDAY, June 30, 1994 TAG: 9406280144
SECTION: NORFOLK COMPASS PAGE: 02 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY JOAN C. STANUS, STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: 940630 LENGTH: Medium
A smile froze on my face. After having just spent an hour retrieving six baskets of toy cars from the sunroom and wiping grimy fingerprints off the front door, I didn't trust myself to speak.
{REST} My 4-year-old daughter spoke for me. ``Mom, we need to get our house as shiny as grandma's.''
I looked around, and groaned. Already I could feel prickly hives beginning to creep up my neck. My throat ached, and my stomach felt as queasy as if I'd been hit with the Asian flu.
Only I knew. This was the in-laws flu.
It happens every time they visit. Unreasonable as it is, I feel compelled to wash every window, scrub every wall, shampoo every carpet and clean everything else in the house that collects dirt.
This compulsion might have something to do with the fact that my mother-in-law maintains a home that is impeccable. Dirt is a foreign object in her house, a place family members irreverently refer to as ``the igloo.'' Decorated in chrome, glass and all-white walls, carpets and furnishings, her house more closely resembles a North Pole museum than a home.
Whenever we visit, she follows my 3- and 4-year-old children around with a Windex bottle.
Drawers and cabinets are as neat and tidy as the rest of the house. Open the linen closet and you'll find perfectly aligned stacks of sheets, towels and wash cloths, all in color-coded rows.
In recent years, I'd promised myself and my husband, who would much rather spend a day working on a chain gang than getting the house in order, that I'd try to keep things in perspective. That I'd remember it really didn't matter if everything was spit-shined when they came to visit. We didn't have to feel guilty living in a cluttered, but happy, mess. That they were coming to see us, not the house.
He kept reminding me: ``They'll be far more impressed by a loving household than spotless windows.''
In my heart I knew he was right, but the aches, nausea and hives had taken control of my good sense. I had to clean.
As the day approached, I lost all reason. I worked from early morning to late night, scrubbing, scouring and polishing. Cleaning supplies disappeared faster than food. During a trip to the grocery store to replenish my supplies, a man behind me in the checkout line jumped in to help me lift a hefty package of 12 rolls of paper towels onto the counter.
As I piled bottles of cleansers, ammonia, bathroom disinfectants, furniture polish and floor wax onto the conveyor belt, he looked at me inquisitively. I turned to him with a shrug and explained: ``The in-laws are coming for a visit.'' He smiled back, with a knowing nod.
By the day they arrived, the house sparkled. Although my home was still not as shiny as grandma's, it made me proud.
As we all sat in the sunroom, catching up on family news and watching the evening sun set over the river, I suddenly felt better. No aches, no nausea, no itch to clean. Even when the kids began dragging their toys from their rooms and pressing their faces against the window to catch a glimpse of the sunset, I didn't flinch.
I'd done the best I could. I was confident there was no dirt.
That is until my 3-year-old noticed a daddy-long-legs in the corner of a recently scoured window sill.
``Mom, look. There's bugs in here,'' he hollered loud enough for everyone to hear.
My husband looked over apprehensively, waiting for my reaction.
From where I know not came my voice. ``Oh, well,'' I said with a nonchalance I couldn't believe. ``He'll be our pet until I clean the windows next year.'' by CNB