I’ve never considered myself to be someone interested in housework.
Anyone who ever saw my room as a teenager could testify to that. But my
mom keeps a beautiful home, and so did my
grandmother.
My whole life I’ve observed how they both knew how to keep their homes
neat and welcoming. Despite the time and energy it took to help run a
small business,
pursue a serious art career,
and raise three children, my mom was probably most famous among my
friends for always keeping the cookie jar in our home stocked with
homemade goodies. My grandma’s house was always almost comically free
of dust and her basement was better organized and less cluttered than
most people’s main rooms. I wondered for a long time if I got some
different combination of genes that kept the development of those skills
from sparking my interest.
When we bought our first home my mom gave me a giant book by Cheryl
Mendelson called “Home Comforts” which is a gigantic housekeeping tome
with almost 900 pages that covers everything from what to stock in your
pantry to how to organize your laundry schedule to how to wash a floor.
It’s a nice book, but at the time as I flipped through it, I mostly
felt inadequate. Besides, I generally associated housework with wasted
time. Repetitive chores using up hours of my life that could be used
for more important and lasting things just did not take priority, and
according to this book I would probably do it all wrong anyway.
But now I have the right house and I get it. I finally get it. I
have never owned or collected things that made sense for the space I was
living in. I acquired things that would work in the place I one day
hoped to be. I am finally
in that place.
Housework everywhere else was frustrating because there was never a
place for everything. There were always things being shifted from one
spot to another, but there was never a final spot for everything to
rest. That’s stressful, and there is no way to keep things organized
like that. Ideally I should have only kept objects with us that worked
in the various places we occupied, but it wasn’t possible. Violin
makers collect a lot of wood and tools and books over a long period, and
my husband put up with a bench and a band saw at one end of our bedroom
in our second apartment in Pennsylvania. I’ve never really had a
decent practice space, even in the other house, because wherever I
wanted to play viola was borrowed space and I had to put everything away
when I was done. When you share too small a space with other people,
their possessions are almost offensive. Ian’s meager collection of
books bothered me anytime I was short on shelving, and that’s just
beyond unreasonable.
But now we have enough space for our things and it makes all the
difference. I have some empty shelves and drawers since the move which
is like a miracle has happened. There is a ton of storage space left
for the kids to grow into. I have a music room. It’s not a giant room,
but I don’t need a giant room. I need a space where there is enough
elbow room to teach, a spot to sit, and room for a keyboard. Because I
have a dedicated music room I can hang all our instruments up. I have
practiced more often since moving into this house than I did probably in
the past two years in the last one because the ease of just pulling my
viola and bow off the wall and playing for a few minutes here and a few
minutes there is wonderful. Getting everything out of the case used to
take up all the time I had to practice with most days, so I didn’t
bother unless I had to. Practicing is fun again.
(Our music room! See the violins and violas hung up on the wall in the back corner? Super handy.)
When everything is organized it’s much easier to take care of and
keep nice. The funny thing about finally being relieved of all the
clutter is that looking for things isn’t very dramatic. When I lost my
camera I spent more time digging through the minivan looking for it than
I did in the house. In the old house there would have been many
searches through piles of stuff several times over. Now I stand in the
dining room briefly and think, “Well, it’s not here.” Because when all
the surfaces are clear and you know that this drawer is just light bulbs
and that one is just extension cords, there just isn’t anywhere worth
looking. I hadn’t realized how nicely organized things were until I did
that search because I literally went through every room in the house
like that. It was peculiar and satisfying at the same time. I like
that things are neat and I enjoy keeping them that way now.
A big help with clutter is the fact that Quinn has his own room and a
huge closet (his closet is crazy–we could literally fit a twin size bed
in there if we chose) that he doesn’t use yet. He has always shared a
room with his sisters and isn’t comfortable sleeping in his own room, so
in the meantime it’s toy central. Most of the toys live in that one
room that I don’t have to walk through or look in and it’s amazing. My
kids used to play in a family room at the top of the stairs in the old
house, and keeping a path clear so we could get down to the bathroom in
the dark without killing ourselves was a constant battle and one I
resented. It’s still obvious when you walk into our house that we have
kids, but now the living room holds a dollhouse, a train set, a box of
legos, and a pachinko machine, all of which can be used and then put
away without making our house look like a daycare center. The struggle
against the tide of toys used to wear me out and make me really grumpy.
There is room for kid space and grown-up space alike in this house, and
that is sanity saving.
The next thing that makes a difference is having such a pretty
house. It has been so beautifully preserved with its original woodwork
from the 1920’s not covered in gloopy paint or the stained glass ripped
out and sold at some point. The house is full of pretty details and
it’s a privilege to live here. I don’t want it to fall to rack and ruin
under my watch.
Now, I don’t want to make it sound like everyplace we lived before
was unpresentable, because everyplace else was fine in its own way. I
have never lived anywhere in a manner that I wouldn’t have been
comfortable with people seeing. I could keep things neat enough, but in
terms of charm, most of that we had to bring to the places we lived by
what we put in them and how we used the space at hand. Our last house
was nice, but people usually commented on the things we did with it
rather than on the house itself. The new house is simply a beautiful
house. People have liked what we’ve done with it, but everyone’s
initial reaction when they come here is to admire the architecture and
the layout and the details. It’s interesting and lovely without us
having to do anything. I’ve also never lived anywhere that anyone
envied. That’s an odd adjustment, but that’s also a different post.
The point is, this house not only needs to be cared for in a way that
requires an understanding of good housekeeping skills, but it’s fun to
do. Making sure the woodwork gleams is fulfilling in its own way, and
doesn’t feel like wasted time. Also, you can see things differently in
this house. The rooms are bigger and you can see things from farther
back and at longer angles than I’m used to. Dust is much easier to spot
in this house on the dark woodwork. I remember my former neighbor when
she lived here saying something to me about dusting and I thought to
myself, “Who dusts?” Well, Ian and his allergies are thankful that this
house does in fact need regular dusting to look right and I don’t
really mind doing it.
Technology helps a lot, too, in terms of embracing certain
housekeeping chores. I’ve finally arrived at state of the art 1950’s
technology and have a dishwasher. How did I live with three kids and no
dishwasher? Between that and the garbage disposal I feel like I’ve
been released from some kind of dishwashing prison. I scrape the plates
into the sink and put them in the dishwasher. I know most of you just
read that sentence and are not impressed because you do it all the time,
but seriously, I scrape the plates into the sink and put them in the
dishwasher! I push a button like Jane Jetson and walk away and the
dishes get clean! I read to the kids before bed and at some point
randomly stop and say, “Guess what? Right now I’m doing the dishes!”
and they cheer and we go back to reading. Or playing. Or doing any
number of things I couldn’t do with them before because I was chained to
the sink scrubbing plates and forks. I used to wonder how much better
it could really be, since you’d still have to handle all the dishes
before putting them in the dishwasher so I wasn’t sure how it would save
much time, but it does does does it really does. And the garbage
disposal is good because I grew up with one and never got out of the
habit of peeling potatoes into the sink, etc. Now it’s okay. Washing
dishes is not frustrating anymore and I love to unload the dishwasher.
Maybe the thrill will wear off at some point, but right now it’s
magical.
Plus there are ingenious old features in this house that help. We
have a laundry chute. What we used to have instead was piles of dirty
laundry. Now everyone gets undressed and puts things down the chute, so
the floors and tops of dressers are easier to keep clear. Aden likes
to help do laundry because the new washer plays a little music at each
step, so a couple of times a week I’ll ask her to switch the laundry and
bring the clean things up, and it makes a difference to have someone
pitch in.
Now let’s talk floors. I tried really hard to keep my husband’s
needs in mind while setting up this house without him here, and part of
that was getting rid of window treatments that trap dust, and getting
rid of any carpeting. We have one big rug in the living room, one
decent sized rug in the family room, one that you can’t see under all
the toys in the girls’ room, and the rest is hardwood floors. I did
splurge for a Dyson vacuum after the responses to my post about
dealing with styrofoam
so I can keep those rugs as clean as possible, and the rest of the
floors I sweep a lot. But the most dramatic floor change for me is in
the kitchen. I love my new kitchen. I used to HATE my old kitchen
because I could never find anything and there was no counter space and
nothing fit in there properly. The new kitchen is so much easier to use
I can’t even do it justice with my words.
(Counter space! And a breakfast nook! And the spice rack area on the wall used to be an old ironing board cupboard.)
Anyway, my old kitchen floor looked like this:
And my new kitchen floor looks like this:
Aesthetically the first floor didn’t do anything for me, and the
second one amuses me and I’ve never seen another floor like it which is
kind of cool. But here’s the important difference: The second floor is
FLAT. Flat is wonderful. The first floor was some kind of heavy duty
tile that’s only redeeming feature was that it was the color of dirt.
Which was handy because there was no good way to clean that floor short
of getting down on your hands and knees with a toothbrush or something.
It had grooves, and waves, and stippling, and my little swiffer mop was
powerless against it. When the kids spilled orange juice it ran down a
crazy path in the grooves and left sticky spots that remained until I
could find the time to get down and carefully scrub along all the
crevices, which was never. Trying to clean that floor after every meal
or art project the kids did over it was a housekeeping nightmare,
because even if you don’t mind clutter, you have to make some attempt to
keep a kitchen clean, and it was a Sisyphean task. But did I mention
the new floor is flat? Sweeping up and running the little swiffer mop
over it is so easy it’s almost fun.
A friend recently looked at me in
surprise when I said something about my new routine and said, “You mop
every night?” and I didn’t want to freak her out by admitting I
sometimes do it after every meal just because it’s so easy. (It’s not
like I’m really mopping–I just squeeze a button to wet the floor and
push the pad thing around any spots that look gross for a second.)
There was no satisfaction in it at the old house. Now it’s simple
enough I don’t mind.
Now, the book I mentioned at the beginning of this overly long post
is truly insane because most of the things it lists as weekly chores I’m
lucky to get to every six months (she wants us to clean and sterilize
the garbage cans every week! And when she cleans the fridge she unplugs
it and pulls it away from the walls and scrubs everything and that’s
just not happening), but it’s interesting. No one wants to hear that
the best way to clean the floor is on your hands and knees, but it’s
true. It’s a fun read now, even though the main thing I’ve learned is
not to invite the author into my home because I will never meet her
standards, but would I like it if my home operated the way she suggests
and the pantry was always stocked properly and there were always clean
sheets on the bed? Sure! It’s like a housekeeping fairy tale and one
that I’m enjoying reading through.
I am not ready for anyone’s white glove test, and like any household
there are always projects that need to be tackled and things to be
organized, but for the first time in my life I feel like I’m capable of
keeping house nicely. Things aren’t perfect, but the house is usually
in a presentable state at any given time because I can keep things
tidy. It’s not a waste of time because overall it saves me time to not
be searching forever for what I need or trying to clear space to get
something done. Clean spaces are like invitations to do something
interesting, like pull out a board game or create something or (Aden’s
favorite) invent a new cookie. I never thought it was hip to be messy, I
was just never in control of an environment that I could manage
before. I’m not even claiming keeping house will hold my interest now
that my husband is back and I want to spend time with him instead, but
my attitude toward the whole idea of it has changed. It only took 40
years, but I may finally be following in the housekeeping footsteps of
some of the women I admire most. (There’s even occasionally something
good in the cookie jar.)
