I Don't Appreciate Your Cleaning

A few more pictures from California and a story of coming home. Read this story understanding it is from MY perspective, and cut Derek a little slack.

When we pulled into the garage, Derek made a point of telling me that even though I’d been gone a week, “The house is clean. I cleaned it today. I actually did a lot of cleaning.” I wasn’t expecting a mess though, because I had cleaned very thoroughly before I left. I had scrubbed the bathroom top to bottom, mopped and vacuumed all the floors, cleaned windows, washed dishes, cleared the counters and table of books and newspapers, put away movies, watered the plants, dusted windowsills and end tables, put clean sheets on the bed, and washed and folded all the laundry. There was no way one man could ruin all that in one week, all by himself!

The house was totally dark as we walked in. Derek and I have always disagreed on whether or not to leave a light on when we leave the house empty at night. Since it was two in the morning, I hurried the baby to his crib in the darkness, not bothering to turn on lights that might wake him up. I was so tired after a long day of travelling alone with a nine-month-old baby that all I wanted to do was pass out in my own bed.

But at least I could brush my teeth. I shuffled back out to the dark living room to retrieve my toothbrush from my suitcase, and then down the hall to the bathroom. I flicked on the light in the bathroom and stood in an exhausted stupor. Was this the bathroom I scrubbed to shining just one week ago? The toilet looked as though it had been used by a team of lumberjacks in the backwoods, the sink was covered in hair and toothpaste, the mirror was smudged and speckled, the shower curtain hung open to reveal a scummy tub that had lost all its sparkle. The only neat thing in the room was a single towel, folded perfectly in half, hanging in the exact center of the towel bar. I sighed and attempted to brush my teeth without touching the sink, or anything else for that matter.

Next morning I woke up and the morning sun streamed in beautifully and warmly on the dining room floor. The sun was beautiful. The floor was another matter. Dust bunnies roamed the wilds of my once pristine floor. Dog slobber and footprints tracked across the herds of bunnies, and in the corners migrated swirling piles of dust, fur, hair, food particles, and several unrecognizable blobs and speckles. I grabbed the broom before I could even think about breakfast and I asked Derek, “did you sweep at all while I was gone?” “Yes,” he said, “Yesterday!” It must have something to do with his technique.

All of the cleaning and cooking I did before I left was to make Derek feel less lonely. I thought that if I could still make his meals, and be sure the house was clean, that he wouldn’t miss me so much because those are my major contributions to the household. Those, and taking care of Luke. That same night when Derek told me he had missed me, I asked him, “What did you miss? I left you food and a clean house, clean clothes, and peace and quiet to do your reading and play guitar! That should have been heaven!” He said, “I missed YOU. I missed hanging out with you. You know you weren’t doing me any favors by leaving. You keep acting as though I should be thanking you for leaving, but I missed you! I didn’t miss your cleaning!”

Obviously not.