I’ve never felt comfortable with housekeepers. I didn’t grow up with a housekeeper or maid coming to our house to clean. My brother and I were expected to pick up after ourselves, and my mom and grandma did the rest. That sounds really bad, but my mom didn’t let us leave our junk laying around the house. She and my grandma were sticklers about a clean house (my room was another story). Because of this, I remember thinking that my friends who had maids were rich.
Now I realize my friends’ parents weren’t rich – they were completely and totally normal.
Even so, I’ve never been particularly comfortable with having a maid. When I first started dating Mike, he and his roommate had a maid, but when I moved in money was tight so the maid had to go. And as the maid went, so did the quality of our house. I mean, we weren’t living in filth or anything. We would occasionally have all-day cleaning sprees, but for the most part we lived like a couple of college kids. The line between messy and dirty maybe be fine, but we made sure not to cross it.
Then I got pregnant and went on bed rest. The house went to pot. Mike did what he could, but it was hard for him to take care of me AND himself and the dog, let alone the house. My mom would come and straighten up, but it would only make a dent. Then my sweet friends Christy and Brianne offered to have a maid come. And I just couldn’t do it. There was something in me that just could NOT literally LAY IN BED while I watched someone clean my house. It just felt like the ultimate in sloth and snobbery – and yes, I know that’s ridiculous since I HAD TO be on bed rest. I was pregnant, not rational.
Before Maddie came home from the hospital, my parents and Aunt Lynn helped Mike and I scrub our house from top to bottom. Mike’s parents helped us replace old fixtures and appliances. But once Maddie came home, we completely lost control. I had to give in to Mike’s requests.
We ordered ourselves a maid.
Mike didn’t want to call his previous maid as he was 99% certain that the last time she’d cleaned the house she made a $87 phone call to El Salvador. So we called a cleaning company. We told them how big our place was and made sure they knew it was, uh…kinda dirty. They sent two maids. I tried to leave for work before they arrived, but I wasn’t so lucky. After I showed them were our cleaning supplies were, I headed out the door. Before the door closed behind me, I heard one of the women say, “¡DIOS MIO! ¡Esto es TREMENDO!”
My God. This place is awful. Yeah.
I felt guilty all day. I wanted to shout, “But we have a BABY! Who requires EXTRA ATTENTION!!!” I felt ashamed, especially when Mike would IM me throughout the day, telling me how long it was taking for them to clean each room.
It was really nice to come home to a clean house, though. Mike assured me that he tipped them well, and I started to relax. I enjoyed my clean house. When it was time to go to sleep, I was excited to climb into my freshly made bed. Mike immediately collapsed on top of the duvet, but I wanted to crawl under my sheets and inhale the clean smell.
I pulled back the duvet, slipped my legs under the top sheet, and stretched out…and for some reason my legs weren’t able to extend all the way. I pushed Mike off the duvet, thinking he was the problem, but he wasn’t. I got out of bed, pulled the duvet back, and saw it.
The maids had SHORT SHEETED OUR BED. Short sheeted! OUR BED! I wanted to be mad but I felt like we deserved it.
We haven’t had a maid since.