One of the less acknowledged benefits of the holidays is that it prompts heavy housecleaning. We talk about the opportunity to gorge on pie, family togetherness, chestnuts roasting on an open fire, but not about finally getting around to scrubbing the toilets.
If it weren't for visitors, I don't think I'd ever disinfect toys. I am actually planning to submerge germy Legos in a tub full of hot water. The floors, which I vacuum when the tufts of dog hair approach the size of Jonas' head, will get a rigorous cleaning. Dog hair is good for my kids - it builds up their immunity! makes them stronger! teaches them about mammals and the insulating properties of the fur coat! - so I let them roll around on the ground.
But when it comes to my brother's daughter visiting, I don't even want a single visible strand of hair on the floor for her to ingest. My brother, his wife and baby daughter, and my grandmother are all coming to visit, so I'm breaking out the mop and pail. The clutter on our mantle/impromptu bag and book storage area, which has accumulated for months, suddenly becomes intolerable if my grandmother is going to see it, even though I know she's not going to be focused on the pile of books on the bedside tables - she'll be looking at her three great-grandchildren, at this
This flury of cleaning is a good thing - if I was left alone and no one came over, it's quite possible that we'd become mad hoarders, our hallways lined with unread and half-read and re-read books and papers I've intended to file for seven months and catalogues I'll never order from and folded laundry I've yet to put away. Stacks - piles of things whose organizing system is clear to me but not to anyone else - would collapse onto our heads and we'd end up trapped on the floor under an avalanche of Williams Sonoma catalogues. Making room for a turkey forces me to clean out the fridge, to get rid of the expired yogurts that Axel's didn't like anyway and the ancient, almost empty jar of roasted red peppers that I've been saving in case of a dire emergency. What sort of emergency would call for slimy red vegetables, I couldn't say, but I have been prepared.
By the time Thanksgiving comes, I will be thankful for my clean house and the reminder to break out the china gathering dust in the basement, and even more for the fact that Jonas does not object to being tackled by his brother, for the sweet snuffly noises and snuggling moves Jonas makes in the wee hours of the morning, for Axel's love of being tucked in and sitting on my lap while he eats snack, for my boys spending time with their cousin, for the butternut squash soup and cranberry applesauce on our table, for the chance for our family to come together.
Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours.
