In my childhood, Saturday morning's were reserved for two things, cartoons and chores. Almost as soon as we had climbed out of bed, my sister and I, comfy in our p.j's, would cozy up in front of the t.v. for a couple of hours. Every half an hour we took turns to decide what cartoon we'd cast our bright eyes upon next. Sometimes this had to be refereed by our Mom, but mostly it was a peaceful affair. We'd eat our breakfast, laugh and be merry for a few hours while enjoying the colourful, visual feast displayed on our television.
Inevitably and all too soon, noon would arrive and the fun cartoons would be replaced by boring adult shows. We'd try unsuccessfully to feign interest, but Mom always knew better and we'd be ushered into the kitchen to eat some lunch before the next part of our day began. Chores.
I didn't ever really mind helping out. The fact was, if we didn't get our chores done, we couldn't go out to play with our friends. And the sooner our chores were completed, the sooner we'd be jumping rope, or riding our bikes outside in the sunshine. Complaining took time, which meant valuable minutes with friends were being wasted.
We didn't really have that many chores to do. Our bedrooms had to be tidied, and we each had one bathroom to clean. My sister usually got to vacuum the carpets, and I vacuumed and mopped the floors. I remember feeling like I always got the harder chores. The ones that took longer. But I think back now, and realize that my sister just did her job faster.
It's not that I dilly dallied around. It's not even that I didn't like cleaning. I actually loved the finished product, all neat and tidy. Yet I always felt on the verge of tears or anger while I was cleaning. I compensated, as children often do, by making up a special game for cleaning the bathroom, called 'Clean or Dry?' Which basically meant that the sink or toilet had to be so clean and spotless and shiny that when I brought my Dad, he always seemed to be the lucky chosen one, to inspect my work he wouldn't be able to tell if it was really wet or dry. He always guessed, "Wet?" and I'd squeal with delight and laughter and make him feel how dry the polished sink actually was.
wet or dry?!
Fast forward a few, okay more like 15 or 20, years. I'm cleaning at the coach house. I start off in a wonderful mood- excited to get everything neat and tidy. By the end I am a crazy, grumpy, irritable wreck- reminiscent of some irrational woman experiencing a round of the worst PMS ever. I couldn't understand where this rage was coming from. The sink was glistening, all of the dishes were done, and the floors were gleaming. I was finished!! Shouldn't the fact that everything was tidy result in elation? Yet here I was, a sweating, furious mess, trying to body check the vacuum back into our tiny closet.
I decided to sit down and thumb through a magazine. It can only be described as serendipitous that the magazine opened to an article about cleaning. On the pages in front of me a Mother was telling the story of her son. A wonderful, happy child who was keen to help out, who was always laughing. Yet, every week after she had finished cleaning her home, something changed in her son. He became cranky. Irritable. He whined and cried. After months of this, a light went off. Could it be the cleaning products that were making her child behave so uncharacteristically? She went out and purchased a non-chemical floor cleaner, came home, and cleaned the floors.
She looked over at her son- who was still contently playing with his toys. After a few days, all of her old products had been replaced by new, chemical free, biodegradable versions. Her son was a happy camper. No more unexplainable out-bursts!
Well. I closed the magazine on my lap, and thought for a few minutes. Could this be where my cleaning rage had come from? It was resolved in my mind. I would conduct my very own experiment, with me as the guinea pig. The next time I was out I would purchase a few new cleaning items.
A few days later I went to the store and found the cleaning isle. Lined up side by side, immaculately presented, was a whole row of various natural cleaners. To my surprise they weren't much more expensive than the products I had used before. They all looked so... inviting! Promises of fresh lemon scent- from actual lemons! Toilets that sparkled and smelt like oranges. Was it possible? How much extra elbow grease would it take to achieve the results I wanted. After far too much time reading and sniffing the various products, I finally settled on a few bottles. Forest fresh pine for the toilet, orange reminiscent of fresh orange juice for the bathtub, chamomile and aloe for the dishes. Sweet, succulent lemon for the floors.
I waited for a day that I was feeling exceptionally cheery and energetic. I didn't wait long!! Armed with my recyclable bottles, I was ready. I scrubbed, polished and danced with my mop gliding across the floor, happy like a clam, for 2 hours. The house was immaculate. It smelled like fresh citrus, but delicately. There were no over powering chemical perfumes lingering in the air. The toilet actually gleamed and glinted like the cartoon animation on a commercial character's smile. I could almost hear the chimes tingle in perfect time with the sparkle. "Ching" My toilet seemed to agree. I rinsed the mop and placed it back in the storage closet, no body checking required.
"Ching!"
We now use natural products for everything. Laundry, dishes, toilet and shower, furniture and floor. They often last longer than my old products because so much less product is required. Although, I am using them more often, because who doesn't love a sparkling home?! And the best thing- no extra elbow grease required!!
It's mid-June, and my flowers are going crazy. I still haven't actually even planted half of them- they are just hanging out in the pots waiting patiently (hopefully this week!!) to be properly planted. The plants don't seem to mind though..... in fact, it is quite the opposite- they are growing like crazy. Only a few weeks ago they were cute little baby plants, looking a little lost in the terracotta pots. It's amazing how quickly things can change!!
Our crazy basil! We can't use it up fast enough!!
