The correlation between the day of the week and the cleanliness of my house

During the weekend, I clean like none other. Vacuuming, mopping, dishes, laundry, dusting, organizing, and toy removal.

I'm not sure why I feel the need to do this. It's not like it will ever be done....there will never be a point at which I sit down and say, "Wow. There's nothing else to do." Unlike God, there will never be that seventh day of rest in which everything I have done is perfect and finished.

But for some reason I persevere. Some involuntary part of me thinks the week will go better if it starts with a clean house.

Assuming I finished the clean-a-thon by Sunday evening, on Monday evening, I cook dinner and marvel at how clean everything is. In order to preserve it, I wash dishes as I cook and I carefully straighten every room before I go to bed.

On Tuesday, I attempt to unload and reload the dishwasher, but some dishes remain in the sink. The girls' rooms probably have toys strewn about, and I've not put away some of my bathroom products.

Wednesday evening, the house goes crazy. Somehow while I'm giving lessons, every toy manages to hop out of the toybox and onto the carpet. No dish gets washed because no dinner dish makes it from the table to the sink. Clothes jump out of closets and hampers. Beds aren't made. Clean towels end up on the floor. Even though there is no mud within 10000 feet of the house, the dog will leave muddy footprints all over the floor.

Thursday is our busiest evening of the week. I'm gone and the girls come home with their Daddy. They totally take advantage of him by bringing toys into every room that doesn't usually contain them (and these aren't regular toys- oh, no, they are my nemeses Polly Pocket and Littlest Pet Shop, which are hard to clean up when the mess is centralized). Somehow beds that aren't made become destroyed. Blankets are pulled out of baskets and laid throughout the house. When I come home, I try to immediately go to bed. I can't take sitting in the nightmare that was my clean house.

Friday after school, I don my tennis shoes and jogging pants and get to work. I try to focus on decluttering one room at a time, but in the end, I'm doing laps from one end of the house to the other putting stuff away. It usually takes me several hours...and no real cleaning is happening. Every thing's just going back in its place. Hey, at least it's exercise, right?

And Saturday morning, the cycle begins again.