No seriously, I really do love Monday. I also love Friday, Saturday and Sunday. And Wednesday because it’s the day I have Prayer Group and get to see my friends, and Thursday because it’s my self-appointed Day Off. I do not like Tuesday, because it has nothing special to offer. Tuesday is only good for mopping floors and cleaning bathrooms. Yuck on Tuesday.
Monday is the day after the weekend. Order is returned to the house. Laundry gets done, and tidying up after the slackery of the weekend. In less than a month (20 days, actually, but who’s counting?) #4 will return to school, and that means even more Order and Structure, which is a lovely, lovely thing.
Monday is the day I go around and gather up the piles and sort them. The house smells of laundry soap and dryer sheets, which is nicer than the usual Dog Aroma. I suppose if I did a load every day or so, the house would nearly always smell of dryer sheets, but that would require Change Of The First Order, and I have always done laundry on Mondays, as has my mother before me, and her mother, probably on back to when Eve rinsed her fig-leaf panties the week after getting booted out of Eden for listening to a snake.
Why Monday? Because everyone is gone the rest of the week, and doing this stuff on Monday (and Tuesday) means getting to appreciate a tidy and nice smelling house for the rest of the week, until Friday afternoon when the heathens all blow in and dump their crap on the floor and sit around smelling like pizza and burritos for the next 2-1/2 days.
Especially right now, because 2 of the heathens are with the grandparents, and have been so for the past almost-a-month. David, who is 22, has been YardMan for Mom, who has needed a yard man for several years but balked at it. They are paying him to shovel trailer loads of horse manure, to eliminate clumps of smilax and wild grapes and honeysuckle, and to tame the water-moccasin infested perimeter of their pond. He gets afternoons off and ammunition so he can practice target shooting. #4, who just turned 13, is there as well, also helping with yard work and target shooting. He is working on a Marksmanship merit badge for Boy Scouts. They will both return (with all their male aromas and laundry-generation abilities) at the end of next week.
I am certain, on that Monday after they return on Sunday, that I will kick into overdrive and do extra laundry and possibly even commit that act of Cheap and I-Can’t-Believe-You-Do-That-But It-Seems-To-Work peculiar air freshening thing of…stapling a dryer sheet to the ceiling fan in each room. No, not really, but it seems like it would work.
Speaking of cleaning and air freshening, I found a peculiar yet remarkably explainatory (is that even a word?) thing in David’s room when I cleaned it. Ok, he is 22. As such, he naturally has a certain involuntary aroma, especially since he is a particularly Manly sort of 22. And yet, his room didn’t stink. It actually smelled kind of…nice. Not a “he uses too much Febreeze” sort of nice, but a generally clean sort of, almost like a bathroom after someone takes a shower. Upon completely dismantling his room (lest you gasp in horror at my invasion of his privacy, I had his permission) I discovered 5 unwrapped bars of Irish Spring, located under and inside various pieces of furniture. At first I thought “what?” and then I thought “huh…not bad” so I put them back where they were found, and filed this information away for later use, when #4’s room gets cleaned.
Do you have a particular and unusual method for making a place smell cleaner than it probably is?