I have many memories of growing up in a small town in the Midwest.  One of those memories is when my mother started spring cleaning, which consisted of tearing the whole house apart and then putting it back together. 

We had lace curtains in the living room, and after washing and starching them, she would hang them on wood curtain stretchers that she had erected in the back yard.  A day in the bright sunshine would give them a fresh smell and make them as stiff as a board.  Before rehanging them, the wallpaper needed cleaning, which was done with a doughy substance resembling Play-Doh. 

Among the many other chores were washing windows and screens, cleaning kitchen cupboards and closets, storing winter clothes and getting out clothes for summer. 

My brother, sister and I knew enough to stay out of mom’s way because she wasn’t in the best of moods when cleaning.  We also got accustomed to meals that didn’t take a lot of work, so we had food such as beans and corn bread and sliced tomatoes.  We were all happy when the dreaded spring cleaning was completed. 

Then I grew up, got married, had children of my own, and put them through the same misery my mother put us through.  Every spring they knew enough to stay out of my way while I washed, scrubbed and shined every nook and cranny in the house. 

To change the subject a little, when I cleaned house before having my lady friends in, my kids knew they weren’t allowed to use the towels in the bathroom, touch anything or eat food from the refrigerator.  Everything had to be pristine when the girls arrived. 

Now that I look back on those years I have come to a conclusion.  Whoever invented spring cleaning should be shot.  I have found that time is better spent doing things I enjoy, such as reading, card playing, traveling and spending time with family and friends.  It took me a lot of years to figure it out.

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