Did those Blue Hairs in the Buick just Pass Me?

So this weekend, the family and I went to Michigan to visit the rest of my family. My Dad still had not met Lily, even though he tried to convince us to come up for Christmas when she was four weeks old. No thanks, Dad, don't really want to drive five hours with a 4-week-old that screams in the car. Now that she's 4 months and is able to hold toys and look around, the car is a much friendlier place. So, anyways, we decided to finally take the plunge.

As I was driving and Rob was trying to calm our crying babe in the backseat, I felt a bit of freedom. The last 4 months of my life have been a drastic departure from the first thirty. I used to do things like stay up til 2 and sleep in til 11. I used to take showers. Daily. And even the occasional bath. And shave my legs. I haven't done any of those things in, well, four months. (Well, okay, I have taken the occasional shower, but I digress). Within the last four months, I haven't been more than 45 minutes from my house and I've only ventured that far because the Babies R Us is that far away. There have been entire 2-week spans where I didn't even leave the house.

So, here we were. On the open road (does a congested freeway qualify as open road?). On a weekday. This was like a real vacation. The sun was shining. It was (almost) warm enough to open the windows and feel the wind in my hair. I was in heaven. Well, my version of heaven. This was very reminiscent of what Rob and I used to do pre-baby. Travel throughout the state visiting various family members. Cranking up the stereo (well, NPR), having some of the best conversations we ever have. And, even though the kid was sometimes crying and we had to listen to #7 on the Chocolat soundtrack to try and prevent this, this still brought back perfectly lovely memories.

During this great reminiscence, I must have entered sort of a highway fugue, because the next thing I knew, somewhere between Uniopolis and Maumee, I looked to my left, and there they were. Two blue hairs (and I mean that with the upmost respect for the elderly), probably 80-years old, were passing me in their Buick. Out loud I said, "Did those blue hairs in the Buick just pass me?" I checked my speed, and upon seeing this significantly smaller number than I used to drive, realized that yet another thing has changed since the baby. I now have this incredible sense of responsibility. To keep her safe. To do the right thing. Just like I've given up listening to NPR in exchange for her music. And taking vacations whenever I want. And even taking showers. So I've sacrificed a little freedom. Not even a sacrifice, just a change, I suppose. An evolution. An improvement in myself, even. A sense of purpose and responsibility and loss of selfishness.

But now I'm just rambling. Trying to figure out how this whole baby thing has really changed me. And it has, for the better, I think. For now I'll leave it at that.

So I Made a Cleaning Schedule, Am I Done?

Along with googling, I love to organize, plan and research. And I am a very thorough person. After my in-laws visited, I decided that I actually prefer having a clean house to a messy one. So, I was trying to figure out how it could stay clean the entire week they were here, and yet, the day after they left, was in shambles again.

I quickly realized that while they were here, I would spend a minute here or two minutes there picking up and doing laundry, I decided that this was the solution. Instead of not doing a thing all week and then begrudgingly have a cleaning bonanza when we expected company, I should clean a little here and a little there. Brilliant! But, how would I know what to clean and when to clean it unless I had a schedule? The solution was obvious.

Unfortunately, not only do I love to organize, plan and research, I also have a horrible habit of getting really excited about something, for like, a day, then dropping it. You may reference my several other inactive websites here (thank you to my husband who spent time setting up each website, getting it on our server, explaining to me how to use it, only for me to write nary a post or two).

So, a cleaning schedule it would be. It took me two whole days to create. Sure, this was time that I could have spent cleaning; but, I justified that a schedule would save me weeks, if not months, during my lifespan in not having to scrub 10-day old gunk out of my microwave.

First, I listed every cleaning duty that I ever did, and several that I never attempted. After all, this was a turning point for me, I might as well do it with gusto. Then I determined how often each activity should be done, and adjusted the time to reflect how often I thought I would realistically do it. I wrote out the days of the week, plugged in my duties, and, voila! A cleaning schedule. I couldn't wait to get started the very next Monday (it was Wednesday, but the schedule started on a Monday- it made sense at the time).

Monday came and as I was making my breakfast, baby happily playing in her bumbo, I thought I could get started on my brand new life as a housewife who actually takes care of the house. I opened up the spreadsheet and hit 'print'. Error message. Huh. Let's try it again. 'Print'. Error message! By this time, my eggs were burning and the kid was crying, so I resolved to start my schedule tomorrow. Which, of course was a Tuesday, and I couldn't possibly start following a schedule that starts on a Monday on a Tuesday. That was the end of that.

Ok, not only do I like googling, organizing, planning, and researching, but I like reflecting. In retrospect, I neglected to factor in that for the week my house was clean, my mother-in-law actually did the dishes most nights and that my husband actually cleaned the baby toys off the floor every night while I put the booger-butt down to sleep. This revelation led me to my new strategy: hire a maid.