The "Home" Side of the Project

Have you ever noticed that nothing spurs you to clean the house more than the knowledge that company's coming? Nearly nine weeks ago - toward the end of spring break - I purchased a couple of cans of foaming carpet cleaner with the intent of sprucing up the stairs and master bedroom. (The stuff worked well on the carpet in my son's room the first time I used it.) "I'll just get these rooms done before going back to school," I told myself. When Monday rolled around and I had not completed the task, I thought, "I'll take care of these rooms on Saturday." Alas, I did not do the chore, but a pattern was set.

Two college degrees, three years as a reporter, and 16 years of teaching English have convinced me that I work best on a deadline. So, after an entire quarter of saying, "I have to do something about this carpet," every time I walked down the stairs, I finally have incentive: a party - day after tomorrow, actually. So this evening found me on hands and knees working carpet cleaner into each step with a scrub brush. Tomorrow will find me doing the same in our bedroom and perhaps my office, as well. (Lest you think my devoted hubby left me to clean alone, he packed up a large quantity of Goodwill items, moved some pictures he's been ignoring for at least a month, and dusted the living room.)

Why can I manage to summon the energy to scrub carpets for a party but not for myself? The answer is simple - embarrassment. I wouldn't want anyone to actually see the carpet that six-foot-two and sloppy has sloshed drinks on, trundled trash bags across, drug ink-stained laundry up, and stomped upon in muddy boots. I can walk past the spots and stains with a heavy sigh and forgive him silently for being oblivious to any mess he might create. However, I would never allow my friends to think for a moment that I live in a less than spotless abode. Nor would I allow them to entertain the thought that I might not be a paragon of housecleaning virtues. After all, I have a reputation to maintain as a June Cleaver wannabe.

If confession is good for the soul, this entry should put me on the ladder to heaven, since I have owned up to not only having a dirty house, but also procrastinating over cleaning it. What would my students think if they could see me now? Might they discover I am human after all? Might they find comfort in the thought that I am not perfect? Nah...They’d think the idea that I put off anything is so ludicrous it could only happen in a bad sci-fi movie with a lame title like The Teacher Who Bled Ink. It's a good thing they'll never know.