Deep, Dark, Dirty Secrets

This title alone is going to get me so many smut comments and skeevy followers, who will no doubt be as disappointed as the bible thumpers who also read me in hopes of first, inspiration (why Darwin, why??), then afterwards with such gusto and full on assault, of saving another lost soul, mine.

You lose.

This post will be about the intricate, dirty whispered secrets of a marriage. My marriage. What happens to keep the love alive in the bedroom, the bathroom, every nook and cranny of my life.

Been married for friggin’ ever, and here’s how to keep at it long after you’re too tired, too cranky, too bloated, fat, achy, or just want to see the end of MasterChef.

If people found out, in particular, my family of female in laws, I’d be blacklisted from Sunday supper as a failure so grand, a pure example of a soul gone wild, the lack of respect, wasteful spending, sinful, selfish behavior that even the prayer circle with their direct dial to Jesus himself can not save. A son who chose so poorly with such misbegotten hope, that even four perfect grandchildren can not deflect the damage done by this one misguided decision.

Is she gone?

My MIL?

Good, because here’s the dirty little secret I’ve had for almost 2 years.

Ever since going back to work and consistently clocking 20+ hours a week, every other Friday I am the happiest woman alive. This addition to my household repertoire saved my life, my marriage, rejuvenated my love life, stopped DCF (department of children & families) from breaking down my door and taking my kids, my dog, my everything.

I have a cleaning lady.

PC term is cleaning service, but she’s a lady, her English is rough, her price is right, and I will absolutely rip the braces off my kid’s teeth before I get rid of her.

Two years ago I did a writing job for a friend gratis, and she paid me with a cleaning service. I must believe this was not a reflection of my dirty house, but instead, my constant bitching and bickering amidst our work calls trying to get the kids to do their bit. A 10 minute conversation took a half-hour because of the constant barrage of complaints about the mom imposed re-dos of jobs they considered “done.” I don’t think so.

So my brilliant colleague graced me with a one-time top-to-bottom whirlwind cleaning service which I fought tooth and nail, and then fell to my knees in gratitude and begged them to come back.

They wouldn’t. But gave me the name of some one who would.

Twice a month, Miss Wonderful enters my home and in 4 hours, I can lick the counter tops. In 4 hours she does what I can’t get my family to do in ten+ years.

And just like that, my bitch factor diminished to 10 (outta 12), my parenting patience rose to about 99, and my love life improved. A lot.

Oh believe me, my kids still clean and pick up and still have more chores than anyone I’ve met, but I know longer cringe when I go into the bathroom, my bare feet don’t stick to the kitchen floor, and every other Friday, stop in unannounced and I won’t be explaining away the mess of my life.

Hear that vacuuming? Smell that Windex? Gotta go. It’s my mating call.