I realize that it’s not practical, but I wish I could have a maid — a real, honest to goodness full-time, live in, motherly sort to whip my house and household into shape. I want a beloved family retainer like in an old English novel or even a Zoila from the Jeff Lewis Bravo show. Because let’s face it. My household management techniques suck.

Look, Ma! No toys! I can see the floor!

Part of that is because I live with two adolescent males. (Granted one is three and the other is thirty-seven, but they both regularly act like teenagers. The baby nonverbally sasses, rolls his eyes, and picks apart every command and request to find the loophole. I often feel the adult flat out failed to grow up.) Walk into my house on any average day, and you will find male clothes scattered all over the floor of the house — including the living room & kitchen (I have no idea why clothes end up on the floor of the kitchen) — dirty dishes on every surface and the poor living room sofa an island rising out of a mound of clothes, dirty dishes, magazines, toys and other male detrius. My husband’s method of checking the mail is to pick it up off the floor — it’s delivered through a slot on our front door — throw any junk mail back on the floor, open his mail, toss the empty envelopes back on the floor, and all my mail too.

My son follows my husband’s grand example, and he too tosses stuff on the floor when he’s done. I work on him with picking up toys regularly, but it all gets undone when Daddy throws a food wrapper on the floor from the couch.

Couple this with my complete incompetence when it comes to cleaning — I can about manage a broom and the dishes and laundry — and you can see that we need an entire legion of maids for our little 1800 sq ft house.

Fortunately, once every three weeks, two women come in for two hours and work that miracle. Sure, my piles of clutter (books, papers I have yet to file, etc) are still there, but the food, the clothes, the pet hair, and the general dirt & grime that has accumulated over the past three weeks disappear. It’s a miracle. It’s Heaven. It’s the best day of my month.

And it only takes the dynamic duo two or three days to make it look like a bomb has gone back off.

I need a daily maid.

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