Clean Home

By Katiedid Langrock

February 4, 2017 5 min read

I just paid for someone to clean my house, and my life will never be the same. My world is rocked, my jaw unhinged. It's as if someone gave me a sneak peek at a glittery afterlife with unicorns and edible gold sparkles, and suddenly all is as it should be.

Housecleaning is an artist's vocation. I didn't know. How feeble and limited my mind must be that I didn't recognize the artistry. I now have a row of Mason jars lining my sink, filled with necessities such as toothbrushes, cotton balls and cotton swabs. It's freaking adorable and far more practical than the big grocery bag I had shoved under my sink and filled with randoms collected over the past decade. The idea of taking cute mini Mason jars from my kitchen and moving them into my bathroom would have never crossed my mind. No chance.

Speaking of the kitchen, I now have apples in a basket. I know! Next to the basement door had been a pile of Christmas decorations that I had yet to put away. A small basket with a red bow was plucked from the pile and repurposed as a pink lady holder. Not only does it save my apples from constantly rolling rogue down the countertop but it actually makes the fruit look more appealing. Within seconds of seeing the basket, I indulged in eating an apple, and then I suffered incomparable guilt over having ruined the darling display. Only a true monster destroys art so haphazardly.

The stuffed animals on my son's bed were propped up in such a way that it looked as if they were having a tea party. The diapers in my baby's room were turned into a frame around a previously loose photo. And the end of the toilet paper was folded into a lotus flower. How can I ever go back to using unfolded toilet paper after an experience so luxurious? And my children, well, they just had their mother ruined for them forever, thank you very much. Suffice it to say, I can't even seem to make the stuffed animals sit up for more than a second, let alone have them act out a scene. Next thing you know, my preschooler will be asking for a stuffed animal diorama of "A Tale of Two Cities." I promise you that the tantrum that follows my failure will only be the worst of times.

I have tried to get interested in Pinterest. Truly. Being crafty is not my jam (though eating jam is). I look at the pinned pictures and think, "Wow, that's amazing — for someone else to do." Then I obsess over how to find the wonderful person who so lovingly created the homemade matching family sweatshirts/town replica made of Popsicle sticks/pumpkin oatmeal goat's-tongue facial scrub/portrait of children using only the petals of a kadupul flower and make her my bestie so I can live the Pinterest lifestyle without finding my inner pin pusher. Let's be honest; I'm not on Pinterest because I have any interest in exercising my arts and crafts muscles. Oh, no, I just want to give the appearance that I have arts and crafts muscles. It's like the time when I was in junior high and covered my backpack in Nirvana patches. It wasn't that I actually had any interest in no longer listening to Ace of Base; I just wanted to give the appearance that I had good taste in music. Is that so wrong?

It mustn't be, because the universe has just awarded me with such a gift in the lovely lady who not only cleaned my home but cute-ified it. Walking around my home has been a magical experience. Did you know that you are supposed to be able to see out of windows? It had been so long that I'd forgotten that those fingerprints and smudges weren't factory-made. How did she do it? How did folly and fun accompany the chemical burns and elbow grease of scrubbing down a house destroyed by tiny tornadoes we call children? How can I go on pretending life is the same after having pumice laid out for me by the sink on curved bark?

This is the kind of spoiled that ruins you. It's like the pope having to compliment his niece's finger painting after seeing the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Sometimes there's just no going back.

Katiedid Langrock is author of the book "Stop Farting in the Pyramids," available at Like Katiedid Langrock on Facebook, at To find out more about her and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate webpage at

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