I thought that my cleaning gene had hidden itself somewhere in my ovaries, fallopian tubes or other female parts as not one of my sons has ever exhibited any tendency to pick up, clean or tidy unless I became a screaming maniac. I was shocked into silence (no small feat) when my five year old son was found in the bathtub this morning. What makes this so shocking is that he was not bathing (a favorite pastime of all my boys for hours on end with an endless array of plastic men who die in explosions or hails of gun fire) he was CLEANING. Yes, he was on his hands and knees with a wet washcloth cleaning the inside of the tub. I just stood there, mouth agape, wide eyed and silent. He looked up with a big grin and said, "I'm cleaning, Mom!" Indeed he was.
Since this was 8 a.m. and there were two other boys to get out the door to make the school bus, I had to leave this beautiful sight and head down to the kitchen. About 15 minutes later he ambled down the stairs, two damp rags in hand, and proceeded to "wash" the windows that I spent a few hours really washing last weekend. I was quite proud of myself for not screaming "Stop!" as I wouldn't want to damper his cleaning enthusiasm in any way. I simply gently redirected him to come into the kitchen and start on the walls that he and his three brothers had coated in some sort of goo that blends in very well with Benjamin Moore paint I chose in a subtle shade of spring green.
His industrious was infectious, so I grabbed one of his damp cloths, rinsed it out, and started on the other side of the kitchen cleaning more goo off more walls. I tossed it in the laundry basket in the laundry room when I was done and moved on to the breakfast dishes. My darling cleaner looked up and demanded to know what happened to his other cleaning cloth. I explained to him that the cloths had to be washed when they were done being used to clean out all the dirt and germs. He replied, "Yeah, that's a good idea. I think they had some germs because I used them to clean the toilet."
After returning to a shade of pale better than the green I was a moment before, I had to laugh. Although it was very, very bad that my kitchen walls were now covered in whatever four boys had sprayed all over their bathroom walls over the last few days, I had to be grateful that the toilet was indeed clean. (Or at least as clean as a five year old can make it.) If there is one thing I hate more than cheap, imitation leather shoes, it is cleaning the bathroom. This has been exacerbated four-fold (really 1,000-fold) since I have four semi-potty trained boys living in my house. I say semi-trained, because no matter the age- between 11 and 5- not one of them consistently pees IN the toilet. There is always something left on the rim, the sides, the floor, the wall, the radiator and/or the side of the sink cabinet. It always amazes me how little pee actually makes it in the waiting toilet water. Well, at least one of them attempted to clean it up.
After an hour of scrubbing with 409, gloves, clean cloths, and more 409, my kitchen walls are sparking. I rewashed all the windows in the bathroom and living room with glass cleaner, along with the bathroom mirror and bathroom sink. All in all, my little cleaner added an extra hour of intense cleaning to my day, but it was worth it. The look of pride on his face in a job"well done" and at his own initiative was priceless. I betting that it will be another five years or so before he does it again on his own, but I could be wrong. I guess the cleaning gene found its way out of my girl parts after all.
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