Strong Words

The boys clean their bathroom every day - or at least they claim to.  They have to tidy, straighten the towels, empty the garbage, swish the toilet, and do CSM (sink, counters, mirror) every day.  Every.  Day.  And it stays relatively passable and gag-free, which is impressive for bathrooms in a house with seven boys.

But not my bathroom.  No, it doesn't get such loving attention.  It gets spots on the mirror and random building hardware takes up residence on the counter.  Somehow, the toothpaste tubes multiply until there are three or four of them hanging around, gossiping about the fingernail clippings behind the tissue box.  A colony of safety pins gather in the wine goblets (I don't know why the goblets are there.  But they are.).  A brush that never gets used, a collection of little girl hair clips, and a few safety pins get stuck in the grime that slowly grows up around them.  And then the hair - the bits that fall out of the electric razor, the wiry snippets left over from the last haircut, and the long snaky hairs that are forever falling out of my head - it all gets pretty gross.  Sorry for the TMI.

It sits there, getting yucky and yuckier.  I wonder when Trent will clean up his messes, and he wonders when I will clean up mine.  Don't judge.  Actually, go ahead and judge - I always do.  I walk in the bathroom and wonder what kind of nasty slacker would let her bathroom get icky like this.  What kind of lazy slob am I, anyway?

Strong words.  Shouldn't we use them to build people up, instead of tearing them down?  Especially when those someones are us.  We are so hard on ourselves, aren't we?

So today I cleaned my bathroom.  It really didn't take very long, and it looks so much better.  I can even see the 70's paisley pattern on the countertop again.  Hopefully it won't take very long to clean out all the icky thoughts, either.