All rights
reserved for Dust Bunnies
Aside from
the usual cleaning hazards (inhaling fumes, bleach burns, slippery floors,
vacuum cleaners left longer than two weeks in the hallway, spontaneous combustion
of cleaning sponges, marital problems started by Mr. Clean), cleaning can also
be hazardous to your loved ones.
Granted, I
do not clean, I mean REALLY clean, all that often. While some adhere to the traditional spring
cleaning, I am more aligned with the Mayan calendar, which means I haven’t
really cleaned since Dec. 21, 2012 when their calendar ended. But yesterday I decided it was time to scoop
out the house and engage in some hard core cleaning.
Most of the
time my cleaning consists of moving the clutter to a different room,
rearranging the clutter in a more organized manner, or hauling the clutter to
the barn. In moments of desperation I
have actually been known to sweep, mop, and vacuum all floors at the same time
regardless of whether or not the floors are covered in carpet, wood, tile, or
cement.
Most of the
time I give the carpet a quick vacuum in the high traffic areas and as my
grandmother used to say “give it a lick and a promise.” This particular day I decided to shampoo all
the carpet; after all, it had been six months since the Mayan calendar ended.
I started in
the twelve-year-old’s room. After
removing enough wrappers, bottles, paper plates, and coke cans to start my own
landfill, I vacuumed and shampooed the carpet.
Who knew the carpet was really blue instead of dove gray?
Inspired, I
went on to the eight-year-old’s room. I
removed all the throw rugs. Seeing the
spot where I had tried to remove a stain last month reminded me to double check
my cleaning solution to make sure there was no bleach in it this time. No bleach.
Whew! Carpet vacuumed, shampooed,
and fans turned on high to speed the drying process. Now I am really motivated. On to the living room.
This was
more of a challenge. Furniture pieces
had to be tilted back and the coffee table moved to the other side of the
sofa. I was on a roll. Spitting out white foam and sucking up water
that would make the Mississippi seem clear; my carpet shampoo machine was doing
an excellent job. I was surprised to see
that my carpet was a solid color and did not actually have a pattern in it,
that I shampooed it again; this time the water really looking like the
Mississippi River. This resulted in a
soggier carpet which needed more drying time.
Off to our bedroom.
By this time
my carpet shampoo-er and I were both running low on steam. I turned the TV on and discovered a “Matlock”
marathon and took a little break. In
between episodes I managed to do a little more decluttering, cleaning, and
shampooing. Later during more sporadic
cleaning and episode 9 of the “Matlock” marathon, Dr. Hubby came in to take a
shower. Before settling down to join me
in watching episode 10, he decided to get a little snack from the kitchen by
way of the living room.
I heard the
crash, the splintering of wood, and the thud of a body on newly shampooed
carpet before I heard the screams from Dr. Hubby and the frightened
children. I scampered to the living room
to discover Dr. Hubby sprawled out on the floor. The coffee table, which I had moved to the
other side of the sofa while the carpet dried, was now missing two legs. He, fortunately, still had his legs attached.
“Who put a
coffee table in the middle of nowhere when there hasn’t been anything there for
the past ten years?” he yelled between knee spasms, words describing
questionable heritage, and clinching his teeth.
“I shampooed
the carpet so I moved the coffee table until it dried.”
“You couldn’t
put it back?”
I helped Dr.
Hubby to his recliner after I determined an ambulance was not necessary and
supplied him with a handful of Advil. Then
I began to laugh out of relief or at the comedy of it all. Dr. Hubby, even at his age, can shoot the eye
out of a black eyed pea at 30 yards but can’t see a 2x4x3 foot coffee table in
the middle of an open space in broad daylight.
“He’s going
to be ok, right? Cause it wouldn’t be as
much fun without him. You are ok, but
just not as much fun,” worried the eight-year-old.
“He will be
fine,” I hoped.
The twelve-year-old and I moved the coffee
table back to its customary place and used books to replace the now missing
legs. I put the vacuum cleaner and the
carpet shampoo-er back in the hall closet exactly in the same place as outlined
by the dust print. Don’t want any more
accidents.
I thought
about my day of house cleaning, carpet shampooing, and coffee table vaulting
husband. Even without a calendar, the
ancient Mayans have spoken:
Excessive cleaning can be hazardous ...to
somebody!
