My Santa Claus Wears Rubber Gloves and Carries a Mop

ALERT! ALERT! The toilets are clean! I repeat—the toilets are clean!
Well, I did it, folks.

I sucked it up, gathered every ounce of pride I had left, and left it out on the curb with the trash.

That’s right—I hired someone to Clean. My. House.

MY house.


You know; you’ve seen pictures. You’ve read the police blotterposts.

It was bad. I couldn’t take it. And I quick-hurried-and-booked-someone-before-I-changed-my-mind.

She was scheduled to come yesterday at noon. I started picking up on Wednesday after work. I worked until midnight and still couldn’t really see the floor. I gave up for the night, went to bed, and took the morning off work to finish picking up.

Did you catch that? I had to TAKE TIME OFF WORK to PICK UP MY HOUSE so a CLEANING LADY COULD CLEAN IT. How pathetic is that?

I started out trying to be very precise and organized about where I put things away. Then as I was sweating my ass off at 10 a.m., freaking out because dirty laundry seemed to be multiplying like rabbits in heat, I resorted to THROWING EVERYTHING IN THE BASEMENT.

I finally left my house in a shambles with an apologetic note for the cleaning gal, pit stains from running laundry baskets up and down the stairs two dozen times, and a voice in my head that seemed to say, “So, it’s come to this.”

But as I did my breathing exercises on the drive to work to ward off the impending anxiety attack, it dawned on me: “But when I come home tonight, it will be CLEAN. Even if she thinks we are the scummiest honyocks in the Metro, my floors will be washed and vacuumed. My tubs will be white once again, and my bathroom sinks will be hairless.”

What a load it was off my shoulders as I sat at work, thinking of my house getting whipped into shape by someone other than ME.

My boys got home first, and I anxiously anticipated their reaction. Finally, I got the call.

“Hello?” I said.

No “Hi, Mom.” or “How was your day?” Nope, instead I heard this:
“What is Dawn—some kind of WIZARD or something?!”

This made me laugh, of course. So I asked Boy #1 if the house looked good.

“Yeah, it’s AWESOME!” he said. “It’s like we live in a NORMAL house!”

Man, how sad is that?

And when I finally walked in last night, the last in the family to arrive home, I just walked around (after taking off my boots and the door and hanging up my coat in the closet, of course) and took it all in. And then of course I had to take some pictures. You know, to prove that my house was EVER this clean all at once. (Yes, I even took a picture of the toilet. The boys thought I had completely lost it. And I’m pretty sure they’re right.) But due to dead camera batteries, I will have to post the evidence for you this weekend. I promise I’m not making it up.

So now Christmas can officially arrive. The house looks festive and peaceful, and we all seemed to act more festive and peaceful last night as well.

But if anyone messes it up, it’s STRAIGHT to the Naughty List!

At least I’ve got Santa in my back pocket for another two weeks…

After that I’ll just have to revert back to the usual empty threats and screaming. With a little flogging thrown in for good measure.


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