Germaphobe

When we were home over Christmas, I noticed a doctored swiffer at in the utility room - my mom had "modified" it to use to clean the walls.

"You never cleaned the walls when I was a kid!"

How things change...still I can't fathom my mom has much of a wall dirt problem: there are no kids at her house and her dogs live exclusively outside.

Nearly every time I clean the floor (1 of 5 times I plan to clean it), I remember a gal I worked with telling me how, in spite of her 3 kids and small dog, she kept her floor "clean enough to eat off of" - which I find to be a sort of nagging statement, because my floors are only clean in the first few minutes after I clean them and even then, I wouldn't want to eat off of them. It's not that I totally subscribe to the "dirt don't hurt" philosophy, but I can't say I enjoy floor cleaning. It just seems like so much effort for something that is undone so fast. Like ironing.

Regardless, I seem to be raising a germaphobe. Caleb, who has come down with a cold, announced yesterday that there were germs on the table. Germs are something he's learn about without any formal lesson, because I can't think of a time I've really talked to him about them, yet he knew they were invisible and everywhere. In fact, after his judgement on the table, he opened his mouth for a few seconds. I asked what he was doing.

"Letting the germs out!"

This time last year he had 5 understandable words - FIVE!

And I'm glad that I remember that better than I remember how clean my house was...or wasn't. I found this little rhyme on the internet:

Cleaning and scrubbing can wait for tomorrow;
For babies grow up, we've learned to our sorrow.
So cobwebs, be quiet! Dust, go to sleep!
I'm rocking my baby, and babies don't keep.

Maybe that's why my mom never cleaned the walls when I was a kid.