We did fall cleaning on Saturday. It was a big, grubby, all-day, scrub-the-baseboards activity, and it felt really good to get it done.
As Sweet Husband and I were finishing the final task--a hands-and-knees scrub of the kitchen floor--we tried to remember the last time we had really-truly cleaned house.
Granted, we try to be tidy from day-to-day. We rarely leave dishes in the sink over night. We run a broom over the floors when they get tracked-on. But neither of us could remember the last time we deep cleaned. The best I could come up with is that I remembered scrubbing the kitchen walls in early labor.
This is remarkable mostly because we used to do it all the time. Pre-the-Kid, I remember spending entire Sunday afternoons, two or three times a month, cleaning house. We had two dogs at the time, or course, but still, when I look back, I can't help but wonder what on earth could have been so messy?
I think part of the answer is that we (ok, ok "my") standards have lowered just a bit. I've graduated from "perfect" to "good enough", and--while I am luxuriating in our extra clean house this week--I'm not sorry.
Because the other part of the answer is that my priorities are in a better place now.
The next day, Sunday, we spent a good chunk the morning outside, raking leaves just to let the Kid kick and jump in the piles. If I have to choose between "perfect" and "leaf piles", leaf piles are going to win every time.