I t is December. With Thanksgiving behind us and Christmas all around us, we are truly in the thick of the holiday season. It is so much more than trimming trees and tangling tinsel. It is beyond decking with boughs of holly.
Yes sir, it is more about cleaning halls and tackling bedrooms with an effort that is reminiscent of mucking stalls.
If you know what I mean.
Since I was hosting Thanksgiving for a family of clean people, I started cleaning and hiding the errors of our ways a couple of weeks ago. I polished mirrors, took a swab to the cool air returns and decontaminated the light switches. When our Lawrence came home from college, I greeted him with a warm embrace, a peck on the cheek and a heartfelt, “Mommy loves!” Then I said the words my sons dread hearing, “We’re in Company Mode.”
In my defense, Company Mode does not mean my family has to dust the rafters or sweep the chimney. I do not expect them to pull out the stove or hot mop the driveway. No sir, Company Mode just means they have to pick up after themselves. It may also mean I’ll be a tad cranky, slightly demanding and an all-out nag.
More ghastly than a pop quiz, harder than the extra lap around the track, Company Mode consists of family members placing their own dishes in the dishwasher, picking up their dirty towels and, as if a psy- cho and mop-wielding woman was only a step behind them and eager to punish them for their dirty ways, cleaning up after themselves.
I turn ugly in Company Mode, I know that. I snap at people for haphazardly dropping their shoes. I throw a fit when they leave their wares strewn about and I have been known to chew out my husband for having the audacity to use the bathroom sink.
Last week, with nary 24 hours remaining before the big shindig, the time had come to face the inevitable. The thought of involving the family with Thanksgiving preparations brought back the memories of our eldest, and wise-cracking son, Vernon, who once said, “We live, we breathe. Why must we apologize for that?”
He was standing in the midst of a pile of dirty laundry at the time.
Charlie, the youngest of the Clinch clan, was sent to his room with orders not to reappear until the place was shipshape. I found him, only moments later, lounging in his favorite spot on the couch spinning a basketball in his hands and watching a game on the TV.
“You did not finish your bedroom,” I said with disgust.
“I did my best,” he said without looking at me.
“You left an extension cord on your floor and a candy wrapper on your bedside table. Not to mention a pair of dirty socks as well as a foam football that has been partially consumed by the dog.”
“You know,” he said as he flashed me his baby blues, “I get the feeling that you don’t like how I decorate.”
Sometimes I get the feeling he has spent too much time with Vernon.
The Thanksgiving extravaganza was a huge success. The turkey roasted nicely, the stuffing was succulent and Aunt Regina’s green bean casserole was to die for.
We gave thanks, we dined, and I can’t help but believe the clean refrigerator gave appetites a real shot in the arm.
Following the festivities, the relatives loaded their suitcases in their cars and with the “toot-toot” of their horn, drove away and left us all alone … and with a clean house.
As I write, the foyer remains dusted, the bathrooms glisten and the refrigerator still shines with sterility despite its abundance of leftovers.
A little voice in my head whispered, “We should stay in Company Mode long enough to get us through all of the Christmas celebrations! I should dust bi-weekly, make the foyer a priority and keep the bathrooms polished.”
Yeah, right. I am quite certain that a better idea would be to defend ourselves with the fact that we live and we breathe.
Better yet, we could simply tell folks that we put Charlie in charge of the decorating.
Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book “Are We There Yet?” You can reach her by sending an email to [email protected].