I am at a time in my life when I have the great good fortune to have the assistance of a cleaning lady. She comes once a week, altogether too darn early in the morning, to whip us into shape. She methodically works her way around the house first dusting, then tidying things, cleaning, and then vacuuming her way out of the room. I finally got to the point where I could let her make my bed. Somehow, it felt wrong, that I should be making my own bed, but I got over that.
The thing about Irena is that we have to clean before she comes. We are not total slobs, but during the course of the week we'll leave a book here, a magazine here, things need to be put away in the kitchen, and mail moved to the office.
If we fail to do this preparation, she retaliates by either putting things where they will NEVER be found again, or she cleans around them. She has us well trained.
Thursday evening, after dinner, I'll start to get nervous, and I'll put everything that will fit, into the dishwasher. I run two or three loads of laundry, folding things and putting them away as they come from the dryer, and tidy up my sewing area. Usually I clean off my computer table in the living room, and the top of my desk in the office. DH has learned to put his personal journals away for fear of loosing them.
And, usually, I still have pans to do when I go to bed. So, Friday morning, before the crack of dawn, I'm up washing dishes. I wish Irena would take over that chore for me on the days when I just can't get to it, but she doesn't classify that as cleaning.
I think I need to find someone who knows how to clean, who can work unsupervised, who isn't a holy terror. Maybe then I could reclaim my Thursday nights!