This week I’m home while our bathroom is renovated. The spare time has left me room to think about the experience.
I’m not an obsessively clean person, but the morning the bathroom was due to be demolished I had this insane desire to clean it. What was that about? The builder’s aren’t going to care how hygienic and tidy to room was when their bringing in crowbars and jackhammers.
Then there is a string of highly qualified professionals trooping through the house looking at parts of it I only showed to visitors as a joke. I wanted to make light of the 1970’s stripped wallpaper, the homemade cabinet with square tiled top. I starting feeling embarrased that I hadn’t swept up the concrete dust from the jack hammer or felt I needed to apologise for the lack of light or electricity in the space.
The house the more of a mess than usual, prompting even untidy me to reach for a broom. No! Stay that hand. There’s another week of this and once you starting sweeping there will be no end to the *tsking* and *sighing* for the dust and dirt tramping in and out.
Still, at the end we should have a room exactly how we want it that’s easy to look after and looks good. I guess all this fuss is worth it.
It makes me think that the whole process (and mothers feel free to abuse me on this point) is much like giving birth. Yes, I should not be left alone to think.