I have not-so-recently come to the conclusion that my Mom was really on to something when we were growing up. She forced us to clean. Can you imagine?! We were responsible throughout the week to wash dishes, sweep kitchen floors, keep our rooms clean, and launder our clothing. Then Saturday morning would roll around and out would come the dreaded multi-colored 3x5 note cards, each listing a chore that needed to be done. Because there were only four kids and over twenty chores, we each ended up with quite the to-do list. We could then trade and barter amongst ourselves to get jobs we enjoyed (OK, that word may have been a stretch back in the day), or to get rid of ones we despised (more accurately describes our feelings to each and every note card).
There was no lolly-gagging about all day, occasionally working on a cleaning project from our note cards. We were not allowed to do anything else until our list was complete. In addition, to help "motivate" us even more, we usually had a time limit. I am sure kids all across this great country love kitchen timers because they insinuate that cookies are done baking, or that their homework study session is finally over. I came to absolutely hate our kitchen timer. If my cleaning list wasn't complete by the time its innocent bells chimed, I was in for a terrible rest of the day.
It was seen as torture then, since we only had one full day of freedom each week to play outside with our friends. She wanted us to waste that precious time vacuuming the stairs and scrubbing the laundry room?! There was an occasional protest and even a time or two of mutiny when we all complained. It never did any good, and we often just found ourselves with more chores and less time to finish (the aforementioned mutiny led to my present distaste of wooden spoons). What a smart lady my Mom is!
As a result of this above-mentioned child abuse, I am quite a clean freak. Some have even accused me of being OCD when it comes to keeping my personal affects in line. I see nothing wrong with having a clean home. In fact, I kinda like it. And a little-known fact is that in most countries, being called OCD is a compliment.
It has been a while since I have had time at home and have felt well enough to complete my ever-building projects list. I have known for months now that I wasn't properly utilizing the space in my kitchen cabinets. Yesterday, I got the chance to remedy that. Four hours of hard manual labor, and this is the result! While I was working, (whistling, too, mind you), I kept having flashbacks of the days of my youth when cleaning wasn't fun at all. My recollection was blurry, since I have such a highly-favored view of cleaning now. It really does make me happy, just like my Mommy said it would twenty years ago! She really was on to something...
