On neatness

My home is clean, but not neat.

Whenever I visit someones home, I observe how neat their living rooms are. And bedrooms, if I am invited to enter. And the bathrooms, if I need to use it. I mean everything is so neat and organized in the visiting place that during and after the visit I keep thinking why does my home always look like a scene out of a typhoon ravaged house. Newspapers all around, books and flyers lying here and there, clothes to be folded, folded clothes to be kept inside the wardrobe, etc, etc.

Its not like when people come announced we have a messy home 😉 😉 But when someone comes suddenly, we always keep putting things away while welcoming them.

“Oh welcome, welcome, long time eh, please come in”

In the background, we are making the sofa presentable by clearing the clutter, setting the living room teapoy in the center and taking away the junk on it, sweeping the dining table of the innumerable knickknacks and assembling chairs for the guests to sit in.

And when you have the kids playing the hall, your feet will invariably hit something and you have to catch yourself from falling or hurting. With Moo, we always have the squeaky toys in all the rooms, even in kitchen 😀

We cannot blame the kids really. Even when they are not around, things are never where they should be. I sit and organize the bedroom every Sunday, but come Tuesday all the open cabinets become messy. The living room I have lost hope that it will ever be organized and neat always.

But, a strange thing is, you wont find a speck of dirt and dust anywhere, MIL is very particular about it. A clean, but disorganized place is where I live, sigh!

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Affected

Something is seriously wrong with me these days. I was not at all like this. Even after marriage I was not like this. Recently, from the day I had to manage the home all by myself, I have been affected with it.

I have become a cleanliness freak.

That does not mean, I used to live in muck and mess earlier. When I was single, my room would be shabby, unless someone came visiting, the books would be lying haphazardly all over, the reading light would be dusty and the pillow would always be on the floor rather than the bed. When I moved in with Zack, I felt heartened to know I was in a better position than him, though only slightly.

Like the difference between chaos and ordered chaos 😉

I was not too particular about how he dumped his clothes in the wardrobe or the way he messed up mine while taking ‘that white shirt’ from his pile. The iron box would always be sleeping on the bed the whole day, at nights it would be unceremoniously placed at the foot of the bed, because it did not have any dedicated place for itself. In the dresser there would be the stapler along with the comb and a pencil entangled with the hair-bands.

It was the same until a couple of weeks ago. A chance look at the kitchen window sill started on the onset of this clean-it-now syndrome. Then it spread to the whole eco-system of my place. Right from the garden to the loft. From the wardrobe to the puja-room. From the main-gate to the hinges of the windows. In the morning rush of fixing breakfast and packing lunch, I would not getting into this cleaning business. But come Saturday-Sunday and I would be all this-should-be-cleaned-today-mode. The back-breaking weekend routine got into Zack’s nerves, since I was keeping him constantly moving from one room to another along with whining how the chimney top got so much grime.

Yesterday, the vacationing party returned with the tiredness of a 20 day journey and stories to last at least a month. While the suitcases were opened to disperse the goodies, I was checking the ever-increasing perimeter of the unloaded clothes, food packets and stuff.After dinner was done, I was itching to clean up the area before I retired to bed. But I was told, to leave it like that.

Tell me now, there is seriously something wrong with me no 😥

P.S  You know you are grown up and a home-maker when you get souvenirs like a handcrafted wooden belan and a marble agarbatti stand. Sigh! I am still wallowing in grief.