Guilty pleasure

I wiped the dust from the crease where the wall meets the tile, I moved my dust cloth ever so gently. The slower I dragged the cloth, the more dust came up, and it was beautiful. The kids were screaming in the other room while my husband tried to entertain them, but while I was sitting on the bathroom floor I could have cared less. All I could focus on was the simple task at hand. Making something perfectly clean.

I remember laughing with my father in law about how my mother in law enjoyed cleaning. She came over once to watch the kids, and when I returned my stovetop was spotless. She said she liked doing it, and would clean my stove anytime I asked.

Who does that? How is that possible? I obviously told her anytime she had the urge to clean a stove to come on by.

But I get it now. It’s almost a zen thing. The moment where everything looks perfect, because of you. Maybe I’m looking too deep into a beautifully clean moment, but it really got to me. I enjoyed cleaning, for the first time in my entire life.

Then I went to clean the toilet and my moment of zen was gone…

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