From Pep Talk to Meltdown

In my dreams, a perfect bathroom exists. The glass is always spotless, the toilet seat puts itself down, and loose hair vanishes into thin air. It always smells like a spa, and towels fold themselves. It’s a beautiful, peaceful fantasy that definitely doesn't exist in my house. 

Saturday mornings are a ritual for me. I wake up around 7:00 AM, grab a hot cup of coffee, and scroll through Facebook, trying to get into the right frame of mind. But there’s a special kind of bravery reserved for what comes next, cleaning the bathrooms.

I take a shower, which makes no sense since I’m about to sweat, but I do it anyway. I do my best thinking in the shower, and on Saturday mornings, it's always a pep talk. Stay calm today. Don’t get into a rage. You know what to expect. You’ve got this, girl.

I get dressed, give myself a wink in the mirror, and pretend today might actually be different.

I stroll past the bedrooms where everyone is still tucked in and peacefully snoring. I secretly love the quiet because I can actually get things accomplished without interruption. I grab my  cleaning caddy from the kitchen closet, load it up with rubber gloves and some biohazard spray and proceed to the master bathroom, ready to do this!

I spray the cleaners in the toilet and shower stall and get to work. That's when the racing thoughts start.  

Seriously, why can't anyone wipe under the seat? This is disgusting.  

Who leaves an empty toilet paper roll sitting directly on top of the vanity instead of tossing it in the trash can that I searched so hard to find? All you have to do is put your foot on the lever and poof, the lid opens! This is not how you hang a towel! Why are there two open tubes of toothpaste on the counter, none of them squeezed from the bottom?

Why must there be spit all over the mirror? Tilt your heads into the sink!  

I completely ignored all of this twenty minutes ago during my shower, hoping a magic bathroom cleaning fairy would come by and handle it. Surprise! No Fairy!

I enter the second bathroom and spray down the shower and tub. I stand there in utter disbelief at the sheer amount of hair left in the drain, feeling the rage build inside me.

Why can’t you people rinse out the tub? I’m tired of cleaning up your hair!

I pray the toilet isn't too bad today, but of course it is. Now I’m starting to shout out loud,  "What is wrong with you people? How hard is it to lift the seat?"

Then I remember everyone is asleep, except now I want them up to hear me. I start slamming cabinet doors. I shout a little louder. “How come nobody else ever cleans the bathroom? How come I am always stuck wiping up other people’s mess?”

Now I’m in a full-blown frenzy. Half of me wants to burst into their rooms and scream, "Why am I the only one who sees this dirt?" while the other half just wants to throw the sponge in the trash and surrender. 

I start thinking about hiring a maid to clean this mess and then I look around and say I would be too embarrassed for someone to come and clean these bathrooms, so I guess I’m stuck doing it myself.

I roll up my sleeves and finish scrubbing, and as the bathroom starts to shine, my anger finally starts to fade. My bathrooms are never going to look or smell like that quiet, dream spa where towels fold themselves and hair magically vanishes and that's okay. Besides, why would they need a self-cleaning spa when they have me? 

Before walking out, I turn and take a snapshot of the clean bathroom, because within an hour, someone will go in and make a mess. 

Heading down the hall with my caddy, I think to myself, another Saturday victory, now onto the kitchen!

-Jackie