The Midlife

There’s nothing like a visit from Mama to get me into a cleaning frenzy. My mom’s coming to visit over Halloween, and in order for her visit to be less scary, I work myself into a neurosis of cleaning and straightening. Are you like this?

I live in a two-bedroom condo, and I’ve come to appreciate living in a smaller space just for the comfort of spending less time cleaning. If you live in a smaller space, you’ll have fewer things. Right? Not exactly, according to my husband, who has a penchant for collecting toys. And before you assume some of kind of kinky condo, rest assured: He collects Transformers toys.

We moved into our place during the pandemic, which is another blog post entirely, but it sometimes takes a move to inspire an overhaul of decluttering and parting with things you no longer use (if you even used them in the first place: I’m talking to you stereo speakers that became makeshift end tables!). One person can accumulate a bunch of things, but add another person and a kid, and you’ve entered a world of too much plastic and sentiment. I remember as we went back to our two-bedroom apartment to get the last of our belongings for the 60th time, I found myself just wanting to leave it all abandoned because I could not longer stuff my car with the remnants of birthdays and Christmases past. I mean, who needs the tiniest grill that could only cook one burger at a time and a pre-World War II children’s desk made of metal gifted to my daughter by her well-intentioned PopPop.

I blame my beloved mother for my neurosis with keeping clean. My mother raised three girls and a boy in a very large home where her only job was home-making or house-wifing. I mean, that is what they called it in the 80s. My mom cooked every night and cleaned our spacious home all by herself and pretended she enjoyed doing so. She entertained and fluffed; she straightened and tidied. Everything she did was to ensure we lived in a spotless and orderly environment. And she delivered time and again. And so her neatnik-ness transferred to me to the point where I can’t relax if my space is in disarray. Thanks, Mom!

Conversely, my dad had always been a pack rat. He took great pleasure in buying stuff we didn’t need or think to want. (My mom owned a fur coat she rarely wore, and our family had a Winnebago we never Winnebagoed anywhere.) And because my mom hated mess, she would end up selling my dad’s junk in a stream of yard sales we had throughout my childhood, unbeknownst to my dad – of course. One of my father’s purchases, which we never sold until after he died, was an organ. An organ, you may ask? Yes.

In our home, we had an organ, much like the ones you would see in church, a place we rarely frequented. You might think, I guess your dad taught you how to play because he played the organ as a young boy. You’d be wrong. No one played the organ professionally or even inexpertly. We had songbooks of organ tunes and no formal instruction. However, my sister played the violin, and I played the clarinet. So there’s that.

With my mom’s impending visit fast approaching, I spent most of my Saturday cleaning out my daughter’s room because this is where my 81 year old mother will sleep. I spent the majority of the time cursing under my breath at the abundance of toys my daughter has abandoned for screen time and video game play. Toys that would easily stub your toe and which have done so to me countless times. I realize these are good problems to have, but I’m trying to avoid my elderly mom stepping on an errant Lego, the scariest thought of all.

Dear reader, do you stress clean before welcoming guests? Are you a pack rat or minimalist? I’d love to hear from you in the comments or at themidlife2021@gmail.com. Until next time, relax and enjoy the week ahead.