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A Love Letter to my Housecleaner

A Love Letter To My House CleanerDear Carol,

It’s been four weeks since your last visit. Preparing for my transformation from working mom to stay at home mom, I decided I could pick up the housecleaning slack. I also figured I could save a few bucks by having you cease work here a full six weeks before I stopped working. In hindsight, this was a spectacularly foolish move.

In the weeks you’ve been gone, I’ve discovered on my floor multitudinous bits of stray popcorn and indecipherable crumbs, dog fur, paper detritus, cracker fragments and a straw. That’s just in the kitchen. In the living room I found on the tile floor a dirty fork, pens and pencils galore, pieces of multicolored pipe cleaner, a sock, several balls of cat fur, one of my husband’s ties, a tennis shoe insole (no shoe, just sole), candy wrappers, wayward pieces of ribbon and more barrettes than I can shake a stick at.

So. Many. Barrettes.

Carol, give it to me straight; have we always been this messy?

I won’t even begin to discuss what cleaning the bathrooms has been like. After all, this is a family website.

The jumble of cords behind the television is already so covered with dust I’m scared to go back there for fear of discovering spider nests or a dead banana peel. We have an elderly cat who almost always remembers to use the cat box, but I found a small pile of poo next to the hearth. I wouldn’t have even gone near that corner had I not been trying to sweep the floors. How long has Archie been leaving you these meaningful, rectal gifts?

For the seven years you cleaned my house, you must have thought we were the grossest people on the planet. I truly had no idea how bad we were.

Has the vacuum always made that high-pitched whine-y noise?

In the last four weeks I’ve wiped down the kitchen counters so many times I’ve had to buy new cloths. I’ve also purchased Costco-sized Windex, cleanser, paper towels, 409 and furniture polish.

I’ve always thought you were worth your weight in gold, but if the cobwebs, filthy blinds, dust bunnies and dozens of small pieces of trash left lying about since your departure are any indication, you’re worth your weight, plus all the trash bags of crap I’ve taken out since you’ve stopped coming.

I miss you, Carol. The pets miss you. The kids are already tired of my sighs of exasperation (okay, perhaps it’s shouting) when I discover yet another apple core rotting in the office, or a dried, empty container of yogurt in the laundry room.

I haven’t yet stopped collecting a paycheck, but I’m making mental calculations where we can cut the budget to ensure you come back.

Please don’t leave me alone with these people. They’re slobs.

Miserable Without You,


This post is written by regular RMB guest contributor April Conway.  April is a Reno resident who grew up in North Pole, Alaska.  She is about to make the transition from being a working mother as a human resources officer at the Nevada Air Guard to being a Stay At Home Mom (read about this decision here).  April enjoys introducing her Girl Scout Troop to new endeavors, concurrently eating a lot of cookies, and desperately tries to find time to moisturize. She’s lived on or traveled to all seven continents and firmly believes that dust and mud from each of those is still embedded in her carpet. April is a wife to Cotter (yeah, it’s a family name) and mother to two school-aged children, a near deaf dog, two cats who understand use of the litter box and one with irritable bowel syndrome who doesn’t. When that doesn’t keep her busy enough, don’t ask how much she’s invested in carpet cleaning, there are also two frogs who happily inhabit her house. She also slightly freaks out when the other April posts to RMB, thinking to herself, “Oh my gosh! What did I write and post while I was tipsy last night?”


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  1. Jessica Santina

    This is hilarious! Love it! We had some of my daughter’s friends over last weekend and we are STILL finding glitter, despite having swept, vacuumed, mopped, and steam cleaned. Ugh. I might need Carol’s number. 🙂

  2. Ugh, glitter. The herpes of the kindergarten set. We’ve banned it from Conway Castle.

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