When the husband goes on a cleaning binge

My husband went on a cleaning binge last weekend. I never know what propels him to do it, but it happens without warning and at random intervals. He’s not so much about the day-to-day upkeep, but when something lights a fire under his arse, there is no stopping him.

He takes on the nasty jobs that I like to ignore. I know, I should be more fastidious and not let a half-inch of dust build up on my ceiling fans (can I ask how that even happens? I almost never turn the freaking things off and yet, when they do stop spinning, there is a ridiculous amount of filth on the blades. I’m no scientist, but it seems like it should – I don’t know – BLOW OFF). I should take the time, after every meal, to grab the step stool and wipe down the cabinets above my stove, to keep the grease from accumulating. And I should probably dust my house more than once every couple of months. But, it’s just not going to happen.

So, perhaps it’s the high level of filth that sets Brian off. Maybe he reaches an invisible threshold that sends him over the edge and up onto a ladder to vacuum the top of the actual ceiling fan. I’ll be honest, there is not one time ever that I’ve thought about cleaning up there. I have never seen past the protective layer of dead skin cells and whatever else lingers in my house, to imagine what horrors may lie beyond. It’s like Mars, I know it’s there and it could probably use some attention, but it’s really outside of my reality and therefore, inconsequential.

He spent hours vacuuming rugs, dusting and wiping down fans and de-greasing cabinets. I think he was quite proud of himself and I was certainly grateful. Keep that in mind. Because, and let’s be clear here, I’M NOT COMPLAINING, but I also took notice of the things he did not clean. Not because I was complaining, because I can assure you that I’M NOT COMPLAINING, but just because I think it highlights the difference between the two of us.

As I mentioned, I’m not cleaning the top of the fan. Ever. But, if I embark on a household cleanse, no normal dirt is safe. Dusting doesn’t just happen on a couple of particularly gross places like the fans, dusting happens everywhere. Yet, when Brian finally declared his work complete, I couldn’t help but notice the layer of dust on the end tables and dressers.

His hours-long (or day-long, if you ask Brian) binge excluded the bathroom altogether. In all of our years as a couple, I don’t think he has ever cleaned a bathroom. Not once. I’m fairly certain he knows what a toilet bowl brush is, just not what to do with it. And toothpaste stains in the sink? Apparently they have a cloaking device that only I have the power to see through.

Remember now, I’m not complaining. I’m just flabbergasted that any person could go to the extreme level of cleaning that my husband went to and not notice the sink full of dirty dishes. It bothers my OCD, in a way that may not be understandable to the average person, to know that there is no dust on the fan blades, yet there is a cobweb the size of my head in the corner of the room.

I have to say though, I’m pretty proud of myself. Because when I saw Brian sit down and dig in for some college football, feeling super-accomplished and deserving of that cold beer, I did not share my feelings about the dusty end tables. I didn’t even let him see the twitch that it caused me. I just waited until he wasn’t around, and quietly finished the job.

I think that my favorite part came the next day. After I had secretly finished off the dusting and cleaned the bathroom enough to take it off the health department’s radar, the house had reached one of its higher levels of cleanliness. But you must keep in mind that there are two children and five furry pets with whom we share our home.

As we were settling in after dinner, around 24 hours after the mass cleaning, Brian became quite distressed by an errant tumbleweed of pet hair, silently making its way across the kitchen floor.

“What the hell goes on here? I just cleaned the whole house yesterday and it’s already disgusting.”

Oh, silly, silly man. Has he never heard of Sisyphus? Doomed to push his boulder to the top of the hill, only to have it roll back down, for eternity? That’s house cleaning. The minute you think, “It’s done!” a dog throws up on the rug. Or a kid comes to you with three weeks worth of dirty laundry he or she has been hoarding under the bed. Or somebody eats something and uses a dish. Or a cat, well, exists, moving through the house, bequeathing you with samples of her voluminous fur.

There is no end and there is no escape. Welcome to hell.

All those pounds of dust in the air really irritated my eyes. They would have been itchy and painful for days. This is why I stay away from the loathsome chore. Thankfully, I have an eye drop recipe that, nearly immediately, calms and soothes.

Eye drops
1 teaspoon Eyebright herb powder
1 1/2 cup of water

Boil together for 10 minutes. Drain with a very fine strainer or cotton cloth and let it cool. Use a sterilized eyedropper and put in two drops, per eye, up to three or four times a day. If you don’t have a dropper, dip a small cotton pad in it and use it as a compress three to four times daily.

I’ve used this to cure styes and pink eye, as well. When researching the best place to buy dried eyebright, I learned that the USDA has banned import of any part of the plant that could contain viable seeds. This was news to me and changed the recipe a bit. I’ve always used the dried herb in my past eye drops. I would think that the powder would work just as well, but it may not be possible/necessary to strain it out. You can purchase the powder, in bulk, from Frontier.