Cleanliness is next to godliness: These women are angels.

I remember well the time I thought I was going to fail my GRE and my only hope to make it in this world would be as a cleaner-woman. Now, this would not be ideal, as I hate cleaning. Also my efforts, while quite well-intended, are sometimes... distracted. Also, after I do it, I become extremely Nazi-like toward my husband regarding keeping up my hard-fought work. Heaven help him if I've spent a few hours on the house that day and Dave dares to set a dirty dish in the sink, or track some bits onto the carpet.

Today two lovely housekeepers are helping me whip the cleanliness factor into shape. I've been struggling along all week, and in they swooped, with their cheerful smiles and boundless energy. I marvel as they crouch and stand back up with ease, over and over. They scrubbed the kitchen faucets with a toothbrush. A toothbrush! They scrubbed the ceiling fan til the bulbs rattled. And they didn't tip sideways off the chairs when they did it, with an extra thousand pounds in their abdomens, or have to rest between each blade because moving their arms all around caused fierce contractions. They don't sit down between each item they dust or need to put their feet up between vacuuming each room to combat swelling. They don't grunt when rising from a kneeling position, don't need a wall for leverage once bent over, and the scent of the cleansers doesn't appear to make their eyes sting or their heads feel light. I'm willing to bet I used to be just like them. But I can't remember it.

To get ready for them, I cleaned for days. I know you're not supposed to do this. But who could blame me? A person wouldn't want her newfound friends to think she lets dust build up on the ceiling fan or neglects the grooves in her cabinet doors! And what's a quick sweep before they get here (to insure a crumb-free kitchen) or a hasty counter-scrubbing (just so they feel at home)?

When they came in and I showed them around, I pointed out the kitchen, bathrooms, and family room as needing their professional assistance. They glanced into the laundry room, spewing darks and lights alike, with surely a floor that needed scrubbing and a counter starved for liquid cleanser. They asked if they could help in there too.

"Oh no!" I insisted, waving my hand, good intentions running rampant. "I will do it! Don't worry at all!" Two hours, several loads of wash, three boxes packed, and 48 contractions later, the room was laundry-free, but depressingly dusty. And though quite small, had floor-cleansing needs that were quite large.

"So, um..." I sidled up the main housekeeper sheepishly (and tiredly). "I think you were right. Do you think maybe you can still do this room?"

"Yes, yes!" she laughed at me and pushed me out of the room, from whence I found my way to the computer to type this post before I head to a long nap in some guest bedroom not under cleanliness-seige.