Cleaning Days

mom-funny-quoteSaturdays often remind me of my childhood. This beautiful Saturday morning is no different. Growing up, Saturdays were cleaning days.

Like most families, it took both my parents working to make ends meet. Dad would work day shift and mom would work nights. They alternated their work shifts, so we wouldn’t have to be with a sitter for an extended period of time. My Mom would drop us off at the babysitter’s house before heading on to work. About an hour later, Dad would pick us up before taking us home again. My parents always put me and my sister first.

On this beautiful Saturday, I’m reminded of these earlier days. I had a wonderful childhood.

What I hated – what I could have done without was our Saturday cleaning days.

On cleaning days, our loving home became a war zone. Dirt and mess and chaos were the enemy. It was my Mom’s personal mission to eliminate and destroy any filth that may have built up during the week. Nothing was safe from inspection and her Saturday cleaning regime – she cleaned under furniture, scoured the fridge, washed curtains, scrubbed walls, shampooed rugs, organized closets, and went through every bedroom.

These Saturdays were a day of trouble for me and my sister. It never failed, our bedrooms were never up to par. Truth be told, we were sloppy. It’s almost as if we delighted in creating chaos.Thinking back, I remember a few of our worst infractions – a raw egg cracked open and left to dry on my sister’s plastic kitchen stove, every toy and book we owned torn out littering the floor of our bedroom leaving anyone entering or exiting our room the distinct pleasure of taking their life in their own hands, walls decorated with drawings in bright colors of crayon, a broken closet bar rod that we used to swing on.

It wasn’t until I became older that I began to learn. Cleaning my room while Mom was busy systematically scouring the rest of the house cooled her wrath. It kept me out of my Mom’s hair and saved me a scolding or a restriction. Being a kid, my room was never quite up to her standards, but my efforts helped.

I tried sharing this trick with my little sister. Although, she never quite learned. Her and Mom would continue to war over the sheer disaster that was her room.

Saturday cleaning days were the bane of my existence. However, I must admit there was no better feeling than the one I would get after we’d weathered the storm of a cleaning day. After the day was done and the house was sparkling clean, I’d be filled with a sense of calm relief. I’d lay in my fresh laundered bed listening to the sounds of my quiet house, happy to be done with another cleaning day. As I would slowly drift off to sleep, I’d think about what Sunday would hold. Sundays were our family’s fun day.

House, work, kids, and marriage – my Mom juggled it all. Dad was always there too, but Mom ran our ship. To this day, I don’t know how she managed it all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The Musings of a Mom Raising a Teenager

 Raising a teenage daughter has been one of the scariest experiences of my life, but the end is in sight. At nineteen, my daughter and I can almost close the book on these years. At this point, I’m feeling pretty confident. My chances of surviving this war and coming out the other side without any significant wounds seems to be extremely promising.

The teen years aren’t easy. There were many times I wondered if I’d make it through unscathed. I happened to be one of the lucky ones. Many parents aren’t nearly as lucky. Unfortunately, there are no guarantees. There is no predestined parenting path anyone can take to guarantee your child’s safety, well being, and happiness.

When my daughter was younger, I’d worry and stress over nonsensical things. Anxious that her head size wasn’t within the normal range for other infants her age, I worried that this would somehow affect her ability to learn. I drove myself crazy wondering if she was getting enough protein in her diet because she would refuse to eat meat. A working mom, I didn’t want to be an absentee parent causing my daughter to resent me, so I’d kill myself trying to juggle and rearrange work to make it to every recital, play, and soccer match. If only I’d have known then what I know now, I wouldn’t have worried quite so much. Perhaps, I’d have a few less grey hairs or gotten a little more sleep.

As children get older the dangers compound. My mind swirls with the possibilities of dangers lurking out there threatening to damage or destroy my daughter’s well-being: peer pressure, bullying, depression, a destructive unhealthy self-image, eating disorders, cutting, underage drinking, drugs, smoking, texting while driving, sexting, car accidents, sexually transmitted diseases, teenage pregnancy, rape, fighting, school violence, being kidnapped, shop lifting, an over-inflated ego and a sense of privilege, and my list of worries goes on and on. Ever vigilant, I was often accused of being over protective, but it didn’t matter. I simply didn’t care. I would do everything within my power to ensure my daughter’s well-being.

A relatively good girl, my daughter is a sensible, intelligent, and beautiful young woman who has the world in the palm of her hand. After taking this last year off, she’ll be attending college in the fall. Some would say my vigilance paid off, they’d be wrong. The truth of it is, I simply got lucky. My daughter could have easily fallen prey to any number of the dangers I feared. There is absolutely nothing any of us can do to guarantee our child survives the tumultuous teenage years. All we can do is watch out for them, love them, and hope we get lucky.