My neat freak, clean freak cousin is coming to visit. With her family. For a week.
She managed to get all the “I like to clean” genes, and left me with none (even though I’m older- but that’s not the point!)
She brings with her her lovely husband and two boys. A teen and a pre-teen. Because our house needs more boys in it.
We had Monkey Boy tidying up the toyroom so they can have the sofa bed in there to sleep on. He started 3 weeks ago and has, so far, manage to put nothing away.
And so commences the sweeping, mopping, scrubbing, yelling frenzy. Contemplate tying cloths to Chippie’s knees, except that now he’s walking he prefers to run and not crawl.
Thankfully, he’s not that good at running and falls over a lot, so we drag him across floor instead. Much greater surface area for cleaning than just knees.
Wipe, wash and panic some more, make the beds, spray the house with some stuff so it smells like it’s just been cleaned and it’s off to the airport to get them.
Receive a text to say their flight is an hour and a half leaving Brisbane.
Thankfully before I leave home.
Ah, clean house, pristine toilet (well, it will be, hopefully, now the bleach has a bit longer to sit there and do it’s job) and I get time to have some quiet time before we need to get them.