Let’s just state for the record, I don’t clean often enough.
What is enough? And what is clean? It’s all subjective. Sure, I wash the clothes but you’re gonna find random items of clothing everywhere. My son is allergic to shirts and likes to remove and drop them whenever possible. He gets it from his father.
Sure, there are dust bunnies under the furniture but the air filter gets changed on a regular basis. (It’s in the Man with the Plan’s wheelhouse.)
Sure, you might get sticky sitting in one of our kitchen chairs but you sure won’t be catching salmonella poisoning! Is it just salmonella? Or is it salmonella poisoning??
Doesn’t matter, you won’t get it from my house because I clean with BLEACH!!! That’s right, bleach. I’ve got all sorts of vinegar, baking soda, essential oil mixtures that I use all over the house!
Except the kitchen and bathroom. Those bad boys get the bleach.
I have two kids. Even if I didn’t have two kids, I don’t mess around with anything less than bleach when it comes to poop and raw chicken. I treat both with the same biological hazard procedures they deserve. I cook chicken often. Almost every time I do, The Man stands in the corner and silently watches as his wife turns into a crazy person with the Clorox bleach wipes. I wipe EVERYTHING! Did raw chicken come in contact with the underside of the pantry shelves behind the closed door? I don’t know, but it could happen and I’m not taking chances.
Clorox might not want my endorsement but that’s their problem because I love them.
Speaking of, I often wonder how people cleaned before Clorox wipes, vacuums, and garbage disposals. When we moved from Bluffton to our rental in Charleston, the house didn’t have a garbage disposal and it was the worst thing to happen to me.
It’s not like I throw everything down the disposal but it’s weirdly satisfying to hear the sound of whatever I did throw down there get demolished, smell and all.
I might need a hobby….
Anyway, back to the bleach of things. That’s not a real thing but I’m using it and making it a thing. So back to the bleach of things.
Everyone knows boys are gross. I’m aware that it’s not correct to gender stereotype anyone. But let’s get a little wrong and a little correct. Boys. Are. Gross.
But, so are girls. Ever been in a women’s public restroom? They’re nasty.
The women’s restroom is a weird place, especially in a busy venue like a bar or sports event. You’re guaranteed to find a least one girl crying and strangers acting like best friends.
Complete strangers will tuck in shirt tags or un-tuck skirts from underwear. Need toilet paper? The chick in the stall next to you has your back. Need an extra bobby pin, you’re covered. Getting creeped out by a dude, a stranger will act like your new best friend. Wearing white and suddenly get a monthly surprise?? No worries, you’ll be supplied with emergency products and sometimes even a stain remover stick. There are few places in the world that can provide the unconditional support and any emergency repair supplies that a women’s bathroom can. That’s why the lines are so long and we take forever in there.
But, they can be real gross. Like, take a bleach wipe with you kind of gross.
Another type of gross is the floor. I will lose count on how many times I will sweep the freaking floor in a day. Seriously, do they smash a goldfish for every one they eat? Like, oops, almost missed that 1:1 ratio, better smash another for good measure. Recently, we got one of those little electrical vacuums that works on tile and carpet. You know the one, with the dust buster attachment. I was so excited!
Again, I need a hobby.
Anyway, for some ridiculous reason, I decided to store it in the laundry room. It’s never there. You’ll usually find it leaning against the kitchen wall somewhere. I’ve gotten to the point of laziness that I can’t even be bothered to put the cleaning supplies away.
Just a quick reminder, I’m not the blog for cleaning and organizing. I’m the blog for a safe space of no judgment, no advice, and no focus. It’s a good place to make yourself feel better about your life.