Spring Cleaning

If you know me, you know that I hate to clean. Getting ready for bed tonight Josh complained about the chaotic state of our bedroom. "Please," I begged him, "don't do anything about it tonight. When I'm tired I can look right past it." Josh retorted: "And even when you're not tired." Touché. Guilty as charged. I'm messy. And I'm OK with that.

But this last Saturday, when the temperature climbed to 72 degrees, and sunlight literally poured into our dining room, I suddenly felt like a woman possessed. Casey was napping and Jacob was playing Wii. "Jacob," I said. "Let's clean the dining room. You can squirt the walls and scrub them." "OK mom," Jacob replied. "I like to squirt stuff."

For two hours Jacob and I tidied, scrubbed, squirted and swept. At the end of our session the dining room sparkled. We didn't make much progress in the rest of the house, but we were both proud of efforts and the fun we had working together.

I have discovered that there may be good cultural, seasonal and historical reasons that March brings out my secret inner cleaner. I have to wonder, though, why did I feel weirdly pulled, by some force greater than myself, to clean? What was it? If only Josh could figure out the source of this mysterious desire, bottle it, and slip it into my coffee every morning!