Maid Service

"The Rose Bowl is the only bowl I've ever seen that I didn't have to clean." ~Erma Bombeck

I spent the weekend at Cath's lake house with Cath and Stan and my cousin Francis and his family. The last time I had a block of visiting time with him was seven years ago when he and his wife Pat and daughter Stephanie spent a couple of days with me on the weekend of Cath's fiftieth birthday. Unfortunately Merv was in Chicago on a business trip until Saturday afternoon and didn't feel up to making the drive to Havelock to join us for the remainder of the weekend. Nonetheless, the weather was spectacular and it was great to spend time reminiscing about our childhood days and getting to know one another as adults.

Jacob told me on Thursday that he had invited friends for a party on Friday night. As he is still a month from being legal, I made a trip to the liquor store on Friday morning to lay in a supply of beer and coolers. I also bought snacks. Jacob advised they would be ordering dinner in. I cleaned the house before I left with an expectation it would be clean when I returned. At around 7:00 P.M. Friday night, I had a call from Sara. She and Emily had decided they were going to cook for the gang instead of ordering in. Did I have pasta, peppers, tomato sauce, brown sugar...? A little later, the phone rang again. Sara had broken a plate and was extremely apologetic and upset. I calmed her down - after all it's just a plate, hardly worth being upset over. At 12:30 that night, she was again texting apologies. So much angst for something so inconsequential.

I drove home from the lake yesterday afternoon with the intention I would take a bath, change my clothes and head out to see my mom. I walked in to the smell of a dirty kitchen. While many might not have noticed, my hyper active nose told me before my eyes could, that the kitchen had not been cleaned from the Friday night party. Sure enough, I was greeted by unrinsed plates, dirty bowls and pots and pans covering every inch of the kitchen sinks and counters. The tomato sauce cans sat empty and unrinsed, pasta boxes were empty and a styrofoam meat tray displayed the remnants of the ground beef. The garbage bag was overflowing and the green garbage reeked. I wanted to cry. Far too annoyed to speak to Jacob about it at that point, I decided to just carry on to my mom's. Maybe he would clean up while I was out.

I finished at my mom's at five o'clock, stopped at the grocery store to buy something for dinner and proceeded home. As soon as I walked in the door, my trusty nose told me nothing had changed. Calmly I had a discussion with my son - while his friends are welcome here anytime, this hotel no longer comes with maid service. A set of really lame excuses was offered and rejected. Before I could make dinner, I spent a half hour cleaning up the kitchen. I'd like to think this will be the last time I have to engage in the clean up conversation. Somehow, though, I rather doubt it.