The Tidy Bowl Lady

My sweet husband has quite an array of pet names he uses for me ranging from Lou (my middle name) to the normal, Honey-Baby-Sweetie stuff. He probably calls me Honey the most which would be evident in the fact that my youngest Luke refused to call me anything but "Honey" at 2 years old, which was pretty darn cute unless he was whining for something and then his sweet "Honey" turned into "Hhhhooonnneeeyyyy…. I want some juuuuiiiccee…" or "Peeeeaaaase Hhhoonneeyy; hold you!!!" –with his arms straight up in the air, because "hold YOU" meant "hold ME"; which I usually did.

(Thanks for the bursitis in my shoulder Lukie- every bit of it is worth it. Anyway, I still get to call him "Baby" at 23- so it's a good trade-off)

One of the most unusual names Brian calls me is "Tidy Bowl" "T.B." or the "Tidy Bowl Lady. He gets this from my need to clean, straighten and organize-obsessively. He has learned the hard way to warn me when he isn't done with his coffee cup, to hide clothes he wants to wear one more time and to not set a plate down and walk away unless he means it because if you have to pee before you grab "seconds" your plate will be swept away into the dishwasher or sink faster than you can say "Please pass the butter" (my kids are chuckling right now because I think I have done this to every one of them). I cook with a sink full of hot soapy water so I can put everything I use directly into it as I use it and I follow a list of housework that I do every week, on the same days- just like I have done for probably at least 20 of our 30 years together. We were having this discussion with some friends that we haven't known a real long time and the woman made a comment about how I probably did things much differently when the kids were small or I was working full time. Brian told her the biggest difference is that now I do it before 10 o'clock at night. She looked at him like he was joking but sadly, he wasn't. When the kids were babies we lived in a 2 story house so once everyone went to bed, I cleaned whatever needed done downstairs and did laundry. During their naps, the only bathroom (which was upstairs) got cleaned and I dusted our bedroom. Then the kids played during vacuuming and cleaning of their own rooms- I just moved them room to room. I even went to the grocery late at night, so to Brian and the kids- the maid and grocery fairy visited during the night filling the cupboards and frig with delicious treats and leaving the kitchen floors sparkling clean. Was it fun? Not really. Was it necessary? I thought it was at the time. It kept me sane. I had vowed to myself that I when I got married I was going to have a house that anyone could walk into at any time and my husband would be proud, and I busted my butt to make it happen. It was important to me then and it is now. Is it overboard? Definitely.

Starting when Luke was 6 months old and lasting until he was 6 years old, I attended a parent support group which was really more of a glorified group counseling session. There I dealt with many things from my past that I didn't want to drag into my children's present. The woman that led the group was a bonified Saint and it didn't take long for her to see through my neat, tidy, controlled house right into my crazy, scattered, emotions. Keeping my house clean and tidy was the way I controlled my environment. When I felt like I had no say, I knew that the house was where I had an opinion. When I was overwhelmed by some emotion either real or blown out of proportion- I picked up a rag, got a bucket of hot, soapy water, got on my knees and scrubbed floors. I could control that. It was predictable and manageable- and I got rave reviews from my husband which fed my fragile self-worth. He has always been a "Thank You Guy". Thank you for dinner. Thank you for cleaning out the frig. Thank you for bleaching my underwear. Supper was delicious, Baby. The house smells SO clean, …. ect ect. Tell me thank you a couple times and I will do it a million more; that is just the way I am. I love being appreciated, but appreciation like that is shaky and my counselor knew this, so she started asking questions…

"What if you are sick and can't do laundry, then what happens?"

"I am never sick."

(Still mostly true. I have great Fields genes. The last time I had the flu, I couldn't make either end of my body happy for 5 straight hours. When that was over, I took a nap, got up and got dressed- and promptly cleaned all 3 bathrooms so Brian wouldn't get sick. Then I made dinner. I have dusted an entire house with a blaring migraine- stop to throw-up, pick up the Pledge and not miss a beat.)

"But just what if? What if laundry doesn't get done the day it's supposed to… or dinner doesn't get made, then what?"

"That never happens, I have a menu on the refrigerator… besides I have to do laundry or it piles up."

"So, let it pile up."

"I can't."

Even sitting here writing this, I remember how painful that conversation was for me. (Sitting here, I am also acutely aware that I still have a menu even though it's not on the frig anymore) You see, most of the girls in group had trouble keeping their houses clean, dishes done and laundry caught up. As we would go around the room after a session, "homework" assignments were as follows: "Do the laundry" "Dust one room this week" "Plan and cook one home-cooked meal; no carry-out."

Until she got to me- then it was this: "Leave your dinner dishes in the sink overnight and stay in the bath tub for more than 15 minutes."

Brian always says that I take a bath so fast that the water is still hot enough for 2 other people to bathe after me. Gross but true; and I was probably 40 before I mastered the dishes-in-the-sink -overnight thing and I wish she had been alive for me to brag about it to her. I don't think she knew that she changed my life during those sessions. She changed all of us. I remember the day one of the girls called me and told me she had finally passed away after a long battle with breast cancer. I went outside on my back steps and sobbed deep in my belly. The keeper of my secrets was gone. The one that told me that I could forget to dust every single surface and the earth would not quit spinning on its axis. That I was beautiful, strong and capable and that I was a good mom and a wonderful wife even if dinner was late or we had no milk for breakfast. They were lessons I still repeat to myself on the dark days and whenever I leave dishes in the sink, I smile to myself in her honor.


That said-I am much better about those things now. Maybe because at 48 I have learned there is so much that is out of my control. Oh, I still have a list of chores and most of the time I do the same chore on the same day every single week (working or not)… only now, if something comes up- most of the time I can change days without panicking or even skip it (gasp) for a day or two, or even a week!!! A rare treat I allow myself once in a blue moon. I still have a menu that has shrunken to "dinner only" with the kids married and gone (as opposed to choices for breakfast, snack time treats and lunches- don't know why my middle son has a thing for predictability…) and I still have a house that on most days, you can walk into with minimal obstructions. It's still clean and tidy (esp. the bathrooms) and dinner is usually per the "menu" and on time; but hear me when I say to you-I AM NOT BRAGGING, so before you kill me let me explain….

The other night, I was in a bubble bath talking to my daughter Cherith on the phone (trying to break the 15 minute record). Now, even though there are lots of ways that Cherith and I are alike, cleaning is not one of them. It is a source of contention between her and BJ and a soft spot for her. She really works at it and is doing better but a hospital atmosphere just isn't high on her list of priorities. She is musical, theatrical and confident. I learned to shut her bedroom door and forget about it when she was 15 or 16 because there were just other things that were more important to me about her character. She would do whatever chore I had her do in the house at large, completely, accurately and without complaint but her room was her space and I tried to leave it to her without coming unglued to often. Maybe that wasn't the right choice, but it was the one I made at the time. I was saying to her during our conversation that I often wasn't sure how BJ felt about me. He has only been in the family about 5 years and we can be a little intimidating with all of our touchy, feely, kissy stuff. BJ is a quiet, serious thinker type- which does nothing to help little old insecure me feel like a good mother-in-law. Not his job to make me feel secure, but that is what I was feeling in that moment of our phone call.

Cherith quickly replied, "OH NO! BJ thinks you are perfect. In fact, he wants me to be like you in every way, nothing would make him happier!"

She giggles brightly, but I feel like someone just hit me with a bowling ball.

See, I know what happened during all that vacuuming, dusting and laundry folding madness. I know what precious moments escaped when instead of watching a few minutes of television with my young husband, I was doing just one more task that couldn't wait.

"Cherith, you don't want that. You don't want to be like me." I reply.

"Of course I do Mommy- don't be ridiculous!" she is still giggling.

"No, honey- what I mean is… you play with Sage. You aren't missing a thing. You get on the floor. I didn't do that. You do puzzles and read endless books. I rarely allowed myself that luxury except books at naptime. I never stopped long enough, and now you are all gone. It goes by so fast! Don't wait until your grandbabies until you decide the dinner dishes can wait a few minutes like I did. It's just not worth it. You are wonderful just the way you are."

We both stop for a few breaths and think. "Well, thanks Mama." She finally says.

The conversation changes course and soon we have to hang up because my water is cold and my feet and hands now look like they belong to a hundred year old woman. I guess nobody can take a bath after me this time and I am a little bit farther removed from the neurotic Tidy Bowl Lady and a little more like her more relaxed sister, Tidy-But-Not-Too-Uptight Tina. I am no longer under the illusion that I can control my world by scrubbing the floor on my knees and WAY more aware that the parts I can't control are better handled on my knees in prayer, given to the only shoulders that are really big enough to carry them anyway.

The shoulders of the Master Secret Keeper.