Domestic Goddess Jane Asks, “Where Can I Return the Crown?”

 Despite the special guest appearance by Old Man Winter yesterday who briefly visited and rudely left behind a blanket of snow on the ground, it is spring.

Who made up these equinox rules anyway? Maybe back in ancient times they didn’t have snow, let alone snow in March. Or maybe those wacky calendar inventors drank a little too much grog the day they decided that spring should officially arrive on March 20^th. After all, what did they know – they used to think the world was flat.

But I believe everything I read, especially if it’s printed on the Shutterfly calendar my sister prepares for us every year, which has been dubbed “The Chloe Calendar” because it features my most favorite niece Gertrude. Er, I mean, Chloe. My most favorite niece Chloe.

So when I read that spring arrived March 20^th, I immediately hauled out the big red bucket, bottle of Spic 'N Span and the mop. I donned those lovely yellow Playtex rubber gloves that flatter no one, although spring chickens might find them rather attractive, I suppose.  And I went to work on scrubbing the winter right out of my home.

Yeah, right. Like I’m that slap-happy about house cleaning. Ever. I tend to revolt, even when Martha Stewart-types wave their Swiffers high in the air, signifying to all domestic goddesses everywhere that Spring Cleaning has begun.

“Start Your Engines,” my foot.

I resist the urge by rolling over and burrowing even deeper under the covers. Hey, I figure if hibernation works for the polar bear, it should work for me, too. Besides, no one could ever mistake me for a “Domestic Goddess.”

Despite my efforts, I apparently came out of hibernation last weekend. I was fooled by the sunshine, even though it was still in the low 30s. So I made a “To Do” list. I started clearing the countertops of all the papers and junk that had accumulated most of the winter. I organized my shoes. I washed, dried and put away multiple loads of laundry. And I hauled out the big red bucket, bottle of Spic 'N Span and the mop and cleaned the floor like nobody’s business.

When I was all done, I heaved a satisfied sigh of relief and put away the mop for another year.

Okay, so I’m fibbing. I hire someone to wash my floors. If I did it, I’d only get halfway through before quitting. And I’d hope that no one could see the clear line of demarcation between pristine and not-so-pristine.

But what I really did was even worse.

I looked down at the tile floor that had been washed only the day before and noticed how dirty the grout was. Big mistake.

And then I found the unused tub of Mr. Clean “Magic Eraser” sponges that I’d bought on a whim the year before to see if they worked on grout.

Really big mistake.  Because they work wonders.

I never knew the grout in my home was supposed to be white. Or at least white-ish.

I could have slapped myself then. Because I realized I couldn’t stop at just a few lines of grout – I would have to clean all the grout. And we have a LOT of it. It’s in our laundry room. And our front hallway that extends in two directions and includes the half bath. And it’s in our rather large kitchen.

We also have three full baths, but I refused to even consider them. Maybe from now on I’ll only extend shower privileges to those guests who can prove that they are legally blind without their corrective lenses. That way I can avoid cleaning the grout in the bathrooms.

Nevertheless, I’d awoken this particular beast and I knew I couldn’t leave those few lines of cleaned grout amid the sea of dirty grout.

It was only then that I realized that (a) we moved into a house with dirty grout because there is no way we could have gotten it that filthy in only a year and nine months, and (b) cleaning grout should have been our first order of business after submitting our change of address card to the post office and renting the U-Haul truck.

I wondered how many people had walked into our home in the past year and nine months and cringed when they saw the dirty grout. Or, perhaps they were like me and were grout oblivious? I could only hope.

So I grumpily knelt down on the hard tile floor and started scrubbing. By the time I finished the laundry room and the entryway, I’d gone through a number of those sponges and realized that one multi-pack was not going to cut it. An imminent trip to Costco was going to be required.

Fortunately, I had reluctant reinforcements the next day and, after our trip to Costco, three of us cleaned the rest of the grout. We managed to get through all those stinking lines of grout with the Magic Erasers, although some areas received a bit less attention than they should have.

But no worries. I can take another pass at it since I still have some Magic Erasers left. And since I’m ignoring those Martha Stewart-types and making up my own Spring Cleaning rules, I’ve decided that Spring Cleaning season is not officially over until the first day of summer. So I’ve got plenty of time.

On the other hand, the next time I get the urge to try on a domestic goddess crown and clean grout, I think I’ll whip up a batch of grog instead. My knees are shot and I’d rather drink than magically erase dirt any day.

I Think Mother Nature is Messing With Us...

What’s this? A new blog for Jane’s Domain? Finally?!

As my mom used to say, “Will wonders never cease?” (And now that I think about it, she used to say that with more than a touch of sarcasm…)

Anyway.

But, yeah, it’s been a busy month. I’ve had lots of little projects to work on – and lots of big projects, too. My poor head is about to explode with all the things I’m doing, need to do, or haven’t gotten done.

But busy is good – right? I mean, it’s way better than being bored. If you had a childhood like mine, the “B” word was NEVER used in our house. Because if we used it, let me tell you, we regretted it the instant the word left our mouths. Our mom would say, “You’re bored? Well, honey, we can take care of that right now…” And then she’d hand us a list of chores that little Miss Cinderella herself would have found daunting.

So bored I’m not.

But because we’ve had such a mild winter and unseasonably warm temperatures so far this spring (even though it has only just arrived), I have a major task that just shot to the top of the list.

Yep, I have to haul out the bins that hold all my spring/summer clothes and switch out my closet. This was a task not scheduled until at least April. But everything – and I mean everything – in my closet is winter wear. It’s all fleece, corduroy, wool and velvet.

Nothing is 80 degree weather-worthy. So I’ve been a soggy, sweaty mess all week. How will I possibly survive August if it’s this warm in March, for cryin’ out loud!

Let’s just say that getting ready for work this morning was a challenge. I think I stood in front of my closet for about 10 minutes just shaking my head. Finally, in desperation, I pulled a long-sleeve jean shirt from the back of the closet and put it on. This is the shirt I normally wear to clean on Saturdays. In the winter. It even has a small(ish) bleach stain on the bottom, but I was so desperate, I wore it anyway.

As I walked through the garage to my car, I eyed the clear plastic bins that hold all my lightweight and airy cotton tops. I looked longingly at the boxes before getting in my car and driving away. In my bleach-stained jean shirt.

The bad news is that those bins are at the bottom of the stack in the garage. So it’s not a minor task we’re discussing. It’s a major undertaking. As I recall, I had back pain for several days last November after I hauled all those bins to the garage. And then when I moved things around in January and put away the holiday decorations, I oh-so-cleverly moved the clothes bins to the bottom of the stack of boxes holding all our Christmas paraphernalia.

There was more room to maneuver in our garage, but still. Now all my clothes are at the bottom of a big stack of boxes.

What was I thinkin’?!

So this weekend, you’ll find me in the garage with boxes strewn all around trying to reach the clothes bins. I’ll drag them upstairs to our bedroom. I’ll probably have to wash them all before I hang them in the closet. And then I’ll have to fold all my winter stuff, put it in the same bins and haul them back to the garage.

Sheesh. Just writing all that makes me tired and achy.

Perhaps I should just go shopping instead. I think I can handle a good half dozen shopping bags, or so. I mean, really. I think I’m up for that!

But whatever I end up doing, you surely know what will happen if I fold up every single piece of winter clothing and put it away, don’t you? Yep, we’ll have an April snowstorm. Of biblical proportions and all that.

So maybe I’ll leave a fleece jacket or something in the back of my closet. A little insurance couldn’t hurt.