Spic and Span

I had a day to myself, no kids, no husband, no agenda, so I did what any respectable woman would do. I cleaned. I mean I really cleaned. I cleaned out closets, I organized drawers, I washed floor boards and wiped down blinds. At the end of the day my house the was cleanest it has ever been in my married life. Not one thing out of place and I made a commitment to keep it that way. We picked up after ourselves, placed things where they belonged and didn't pull out of the driveway unless the house was in complete order. And then one day it paid off . . .

We were on the freeway one Sunday evening, on our way home from a family party. I noticed that the SUV to our left had Idaho license plates. I peered across my husband, wondering if I knew the occupants. Nope, just a car full of beautiful, teenage girls. Moments later the passenger was leaning out her window, blonde hair flying wildly as she waved us down. It was a childhood friend and she looked EXACTLY the same, brilliant blue eyes, long sun kissed tresses, flawless skin and a dainty, turned up nose. How was it that she had stopped aging at 17?! She announced excitedly that they would follow us to our home.

Sweet! Our home. Our "not one speck out of place" home. You bet!

We pulled up and they followed us inside. I have to tell you, it was a great feeling. I didn't have to worry about the usual dirty dishes that graced my countertops on any given Sunday, or pajamas that were usually at home in the middle of the kitchen table. (Eight thirty church, I remind you.) The place sparkled and so did her children's eyes as they explored it. We made our way to the back deck, settled into the adirondacks and cracked open our bottles of cherry soda. We talked through the sunset and into the dark of night. Finally they stood to say their goodbyes and continue their journey back to Idaho.

We walked them to the gleaming entry way and it was then that I stopped enjoying the dumb luck of it all. As I looked into her flawless face I sensed the tiredness of a middle aged, working mom. She was raising 5 children between the ages of "almost graduating" and "busy little preschooler."

"Can we see the upstairs?" The two oldest asked?

"Heavens no! The last thing I want you to see is our our upstairs," I lied. Of course not a single, solitary thing was out of place in our bedrooms, but they didn't need to know that. They didn't need to remember our house any more perfect than they already would. Nineteen years since I had seen my friend. Would it be another 19 until we were able to embrace again? Another 19 until she could see the real, untidy, disorganized me? I wanted to blurt out that the clean house was a farce, a bold faced lie. Instead I hugged her tightly, kissed her cheek and told her what a great job I thought she was doing with her beautiful children. And she is.

That clean spell lasted about a week. You know what? I don't mind too much that it's over. Organized chaos is good enough for me. It feels honest, homey.

So come on over. I'll rinse out a couple of cups and we'll have some ice water together, or some 1% while we visit in the middle of my mess.

But please, don't ask to see the upstairs.