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Alison Konrad

New to the Atlanta Hipster Mom scene as of June 2006, Alison Konrad is a Mom's Mom, Mom-About-Town kind of gal with an arsenal of diving-in-head-first experience in navigating the sometimes complicated World of Motherhood, and the trials and tribulations of juggling the identities of being a working...

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House Cleaning 911

Call the doctor - quick!

My house is ill. Seemingly overnight my house has projectile vomited the contents of every drawer, closet, nook and cranny, better known as its “belly”, across every square foot of its domain.Just to name a few of its symptoms—the den is littered with an assortment of half emptied beverage carcasses: cans, take-out cups, sippy cups, coffee cups, glasses of various shapes and sizes. The dining room table is covered with the entire contents of the coat closet and a toddler’s half eaten breakfast. There is a wadded up bath towel resting on the island in the kitchen. Who put that there? I bet it’s still damp.How does this happen?Is there a cure for this untidiness?A simple pill?Anything?

I try closing my eyes, clicking my heels and proclaim, “Supercalifragilisticexpialidoscious!”Nope. Nothing. Not only am I still staring blankly out the window, but the lone mitten on the kitchen floor did not even flinch.

Didn’t I just put all of this junk away YESTERDAY? It is amazing to me how quickly the housework element of my life can take a turn for the worse. It is redlining and lifeless as I type.

I am tempted to call the maid service, but even if I do, I will STILL have to pick all of this stuff up before they arrive. I dread the mere thought of wrestling the vacuum cleaner out of the laundry room, but if I pick up another article of clothing off of the floor and find it covered in crumbs, I am going to go Britney Spears!

I have zero motivation. I wonder if stay-at-home moms hire a maid service as I shift a pile of junk mail from one counter top to another.

The situation is critical.I don’t have time for deep thoughts.  I need a plan of attack. STAT! The day is getting away from me and I refuse to waste more than an hour on this chore.  A House Doctor with a cleaning cure-all would be perfection.  Or what I really need is a good housewife.Wouldn’t it be great if June Cleaver was on call?   June’s house was always spic and span.June never broke a sweat! June always had extra time to chat up “the Beave” in the kitchen, wear a freshly pressed dress, casually stir something delicious in a giant mixing bowl with her magic wand disguised as a wooden spoon.

I must summon the spirit of June Cleaver immediately. “Juuuuuuuuuuuune.”“Where are you Juuuuuuuuune?”  Seriously. Talk to me June.

Shhhhhhhhhh!I think hear something. “What’s that June? Speak up!...I’m sorry, did you just tell me to put makeup on, fix my hair, throw on a skirt, a pair of heels and an apron? What?   Will that really get me in the mood?”

Perhaps June is onto something.  I do look like crap at the moment, and I am still wearing my pajamas. If I tidy myself up first, I might be in a better mood.  I suppose I haven’t got anything to lose at this point, but if my husband comes home before I finish cleaning and sees me vacuuming in an apron and stilettos, he is going to think I am nuts.

Or, maybe...maybe he will think I look really HOT in my apron! [wink. wink.]

MOTIVATION AT LAST!!!

I am off to clean.