Cleaning Maid Simple!

In this age of ‘multitasking’ it seems that most women are now realising that you absolutely cannot do everything by yourself! I spend my days trying to find the delicate balance of all things motherly, wifey, careery, etcetery….. I officially give up! It’s not possible to be wonder woman and besides the costume is too damn tight and it rides up your arse when you’re trying to scrub the kitchen floor.

I have, therefore, resolved to hire the services of a cleaning lady / maid / whatever the PC name is for them nowadays. I have been instructed by a friend to immediately source an Eastern European domestic goddess and hire her at once. The only problem with living on the west coast of Ireland (and in the middle of nowhere) is that in order to obtain one of these must-have accessories you must be in a position to pick her up from the local village (3 miles away) and drop her back when she’s finished. Oh – and by the way – most of these ladies have very limited English, therefore you will spend most of the two or so hours trying to give hand signals for what you need done. Not only that but I have been given sound advice (allegedly) that before you invite someone in to your home to clean it – it should be pre cleaned so that the incoming cleaner doesn’t think that you are a complete pig.

Surely this defeats the purpose?

By the time I have pre cleaned, hand signalled and provided a taxi service, I would have had the whole lot done myself. Surely there is a better way?

Enter one very good friend with a staff of cleaners – albeit for the hotel industry. But, hey?!? Hotels have more people trekking through them in a day then I have through my house in, well, 2 days if you count the stray animals and stray teenagers that culminate in my kitchen most evenings. I am due to get my first official clean in the next week.

I’m so excited!

What will I have cleaned first? My teenage daughter’s room? Oh wait – that’s a dead zone – no one allowed in. Ok, then. My son’s room? Um, well, that’s the twilight zone. Anything that goes in there doesn’t come back out again! My room? No wait. What if she rummages through my husbands underwear drawer? Oh dear. Ah, the kitchen! Of course. Why didn’t I think of that sooner? She could start with the oven. Perfect. But before she get’s here I might just give it a quick clean – just so she doesn’t think we’re a bunch of pigs…