Martha I'm not.

Yeah right.
Homemaker.
Stay at home mom.

This homemaker finally took down her Christmas tree. Yesterday. It was a real one. Meaning it was one sneeze away from being stark naked. The path of pine needles were inhaled by a vacuum that rebelled mid-suck. It (the vacuum) was left in the entrance as the second string cleaning crew was called into action. Once the woodsy mess was disposed of, the broom joined the vacuum to guard the front door. The 45 pound Christmas tree stand was removed from the living room by my muscle-popping 17 year old. He selected the welcome mat, outside the front door, as the perfect place to store the stand til next Christmas.
The Christmas lights, lovingly removed from the tree, and placed on the couches with care, look like they’d been knotted by some mad macramé-ist.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, every pot and pan currently in our possession has been “soaking”. A load of dirty dishes is patiently waiting on the counter for their turn to enter the sauna.
And the oven. Yes. The oven. I was boiling eggs a week ago, and forgot to turn the burner off when I left the house. Once the water had nicely evaporated, the eggs started to heat up real good. And the candles on the cooktop melted into an exquisite large puddle of wax. Truly, I intended on cleaning that mess up. But we left for SunPeaks the next day. And when we got back… well, laundry became a priority. As did grocery shopping. And homework. And seeing a movie with a friend. And blogging.

“Mom? This is disgusting. Aren’t you ever going to clean it?” (You KNOW it’s gross when a son is repelled by the sight of your stove.)

TODAY was the day. To tackle it all. Wrestle the mess. Be the champion of my home like the quiz says I should be.
But then the phone rang. Could I do this? And that? And reschedule the lesson for today instead of tomorrow?

Finally at 6:30pm I was home again. Just getting supper started when Jenn, my writing buddy dropped by.

It was like getting caught with …hairy legs on a first date to the beach.
My house is messy and disgusting. It’s in serious need of a homemaker.

I’m supposed to be that homemaker. The personality profile test said so.
But I’m not.
(Well, maybe I could be if I didn’t share living quarters with Curly Moe and Joe…)

My inability to be a gracious spontaneous hostess is worrisome.
What is wrong with me?

Jenn. When you drop by next week, I’ll invite you all the way into my kitchen. I should have the wax scraped off by then. If all’s well, the soaking pots will have practically cleaned themselves. And the Christmas tree stand will be pushed to the side of the house.

Because, after all, friendship is more important than cleanliness.
And I’m sure I don’t have a single friend who would judge me harshly just because there’s mould growing in my windowsills, super-size-me dust bunnies in every corner, and left-overs in the fridge dating back to the Trudeau era.

Right?