My mom is the most intense cleaner I know. Growing up, the smell of bleach was a familiar scent. My family home was all white. All white curtains, bed sheets, tiles, walls- everything. White. White. White. White. White.
I wasn’t allowed to leave my room for school before doing my bed and vacuuming my room. I have this pavlovian instinct that occurred when my mom was coming up the stairs. I would jump into action, diligently cleaning. I swear it’s the cause of my anxiety with footsteps.
When I first got my house, I needed my mom’s super powers! The place was nasty. It wasn’t horror movie nasty, but when we washed the walls, the water in the bucket turned brown.
The oven required at least 5 rounds of deep cleaning, the fan from the picture needed some elbow grease and the windows were out of control dusty. I still need to power wash them from the outside but that’s a project for next year.
The battle to keep the house clean is ongoing. But look at the difference!