No Bread For You

The paddle to my bread machine is missing. We love homemade bread around here. My husband is so addicted to my bread that he won't eat storebought bread in fact. That's why we bought the bread machine. I can make bread by hand, in fact I've been doing that for the last few weeks, but it takes way too much time. Since I've never found kneading to be the satisfyingly ruminative activity other people experience, I'd rather spend that time with my family, or writing. (Kneading is great for the biceps though! Try it sometime instead of weightlifting. You'll be amazed.)

The paddle disappeared while I was in the hospital having the baby. The friend who was watching the toddler for us decided to clean the kitchen for me. I have a hunch that she might have tossed it in her cleaning frenzy. I've torn the place apart, and it is absolutely nowhere. Nor is this the only thing missing. A recently filled prescription disappeared and so did some paperwork that I left sitting on the counter. I'll bet they also went into the garbage.

She meant well, I know she did, but, honestly, is there anything more humiliating than having a friend come over to clean up your house? It should be such a nice, loving gesture of friendship, but what it is really, is an indictment of your cleaning ability, an attack on the way you keep (or don't keep) your surroundings. And considering I'd spent the two weeks that I was overdue cleaning like crazy, I didn't appreciate the thought.

This is the second time this has happened to me. After the toddler was born I had a major gallstone attack. I wound up spending a week in the hospital and having two surgeries. I got home to a "clean" house. A friend had come over with her sister-in-law and picked up for me. Everything was put away, every surface was clear and free of all extraneous objects. It was so sweet, and it made me so crazy, because it took me months to get everything put back where I wanted it! Some things (like my daughter's immunization record and the hardware to a shelving unit I hadn't finished putting together yet) never did turn up.

You have to realize, I've never minded a certain amount of clutter. After all, I live here! When I was single I always hated having roommates who wanted the place to look like House Beautiful all the time. It was like constantly living in your best clothes. You can never get comfortable because you don't dare wrinkle them.

But clutter isn't dirt. There's a big difference between clear and clean. I'm a little obsessive-compulsive. I don't like germs; I very much like bleach. I don't care whether the plates are drying in the dish rack, or put away in the cupboard, as long as there aren't bits of food on them. And while a certain amount of clutter is OK, a lot keeps you from keeping things clean. (Hence, Flylady. I'm having a hard time learning how to keep things reasonably tidy with 4, sometimes 5, people living in the house.) It's a constantly changing balance that our whole family is working on. Some days are better than others.

So, if you ever get to know me in real life, don't ever come over and clean my house. In return I promise never to comment on how your teenager is dressed (or not, as the case may be.)