Home is my (clean) Castle

I love clean.  No I don't love tidy, or kind of clean, or it seems clean.  I love clean. 

If you walk into our home, and can't eat off the floors, then in my eyes it's filthy.

For many years I lived alone - and I cleaned pratically everyday.  A bit over the top?  Perhaps, but I loved walking into the house and everything shined.  My glass top coffee tables were spotless, the mirrors in the bathroom would get a daily scrub down.  And I loved it.

I knew that when Jared moved in, this would change and I would have to become slightly more leniant where cleanliness was involved.  It's not that Jared is dirty, it's just that he doesn't seem to value the incessant need for "clean-perfection" as I do.  And apparently not many people do. 

My man loves to cook - I hate it.  And it's not that I really hate cooking, it's that I hate the mess it leaves behind.  I never cooked when I lived alone.  Simply because a) I eat salad only (see statement below about weight perfection) and b) Cutting vegetables does not make a mess.  Jared however, loves it.  It's where he is creative and can be free.  It's also where he makes his biggest messes:  flour on the floor, fingerprints on the stainless steel appliances and oily feet marks on the dark hardwood floors. 

For awhile I would clean behind him as he cooked.  This did not go well - we'd just end up frustrated at one another.  Then I tried "tidying up" after him; which was fine - but it never got that perfect-shine I was after.

I tried to live with it, and I was doing alright - until this weekend.

I could not handle it anymore.

I needed perfection again.  I don't do things half assed.  Ever.  If I am going to commit to something, it's going to be 100% perfect (or at least as good as I can get it, with the tools I possess).  My constant need for perfection comes up in many aspects of my life - it's been noted in my performance evaluations with my boss, and has also been noted by loved ones by my commitment to my physical health (particularly where my weight comes into play). 

Well my weight is in check, I'm working hard at my career and being rewarded for it, and I have all-round fantastic life:  except that the house wasn't clean enough.

I will admit, had anyone other than me walked into the house, they would probably not have known the difference.  There was no bird seed on the floor, no finger prints on anything, but it needed some heart.  Only I knew it - but I didn't care.  So when Jared went to work on Sunday - I cleaned.  I scrubbed.  I got down on my hands and knees and q-tipped our floor boards to ensure there was no lurking dust.  I went into our paint and fixed up a few tiny knicks on our walls.  I vacuumed every corner - scrubbed every toilet.  It shined.

And I enjoyed that cleanliness.  I felt at peace and happy. 

Once Jared got home from work, I knew I'd have to let go to that perfection.  Of course he cooked dinner - and there were oily fingerprints on the stainless steel again and his foot marks were along the floor.

They said cleanliness is next to Godliness, but being loved from a guy who drops crumbs on your floor - is next to nothing at all - because that, my friend - is better than any clean home could ever be.