I like ceiling bumps.
To date, I've discovered Richard Nixon, a Seahorse, and an Asian Elephant among the dots that hang above our heads. And it's a mighty handy pastime since all the time I pass is passed flat on my back.
Yes, the idol-goddess-me-who-can't-stop-cleaning-because-me-my-house-and-
everything-around-me-must-be-perfect-so-don't-you-dare-ask-me-not-to-overdo-it has been felled from her lofty pedestal and now resides in a reclining position within the house.
I think it began with the bathtub. Or maybe the boxes. But I'll say it was the bathtub. The former residents of our residence chewed all the enamel off the bathtub (perhaps the residents were rodents) and then proceeded not to clean it for the next decade. The ever helpful bathroom molds and scums (of the black and pink varieties) decided to replace the enamel with something much more resilient--themselves. Idol-goddess-me could not bear to allow such scum to perpetrate acts of reproduction right beneath my feet, and she declared all-out war.
Five days later, I have learned two things:
1. My worth as a housewife is not determined by how well a person can see his reflection in the bathtub. (And who'd want to do that anyway?) This is a big step for idol-goddess-me.
2. Unless you should like to have reinforced steel rods inserted into your spine, don't mess with bathroom scum. No, it's not altogether that awful, but it's close.
3. Ok, so I learned three things. Perfectionism=pride (usually). I have been cleaning, unpacking, attacking the bathroom for three weeks straight. No breaks. No time-outs. No sipping of tea and reading of books. No writing. Just the idol-goddess-me screaming "You can't stop until this house is clean!" and stomping on my brain as though it were a trampoline and driving me with a cat of nine tails to clean clean clean clean "till this floor shines like the top of the Chrysler building!" (The idol-goddess-me sounds suspiciously like Miss Hannigan, even though I pretend really hard that she looks like Meg Ryan and acts like Mother Theresa.)
All that to say, I have been proud. But more than that: the grace of God has caught me, stopped me, placed me on my back, and given me ample time to rest. Yes, my kitchen is a disaster, and I refuse to think about what sort of party the mold is throwing in my bathroom. But the important things are: I have remembered the goodness of God. I have read two whole books. I did find Richard Nixon. And I wrote a blog.
Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love, for his wondrous works to the children of men!
Posted by stephanie at July 6, 2004 01:36 PM | TrackBack