817. Obsessive Compulsive Compulsive Compulsive

Last weekend, we threw a party.  Since it was a child’s birthday party, I thought the parents would drop the kids off and come back later.  (I myself have been known to relish a few glorious hours of child-free-ness, and even exploit those unplanned minutes for my own selfish shopping or napping benefit.)  Turns out, most of the parents planned to stay. 

Now, I am the type of person who gets panicky about my house right before people come over.  I obsess if it is clean enough, or even acceptable.  Will people judge me and think I am a horrible person because there are some items laying around that I have not had a chance to put away yet?  Will they mock me on Facebook later?    

The Husband kept saying, “No one will even stay; they’re just dropping off!  Plus it is a backyard water gun party.  Everyone will be outside.  What are you stressing about?” 

But, being the Virgo that I am, I plan for twenty different scenarios:  

• rain /no rain
• sun /clouds
• gnats /flying lizards
• tornado /hurricane
• parents stay /parents leave

My mantra has always been:  “Just in case you forgot to plan everything, plan a little bit more.” 
Sadly, ever since school let out and we were not on our normal routine, I had uncharacteristically let the cleanliness level of our house slide.  A bit.  Just a tiny bit. 

To say the house was messy was akin to saying that the ocean is wet.   

But never fear.  Being the Virgo that I am, I kicked it into high gear. 

I cleaned and straightened, then straightened some more.  I stumbled upon the overdue library books I had been looking for.  I located my lost earring.  And I finally found the cat, who had been missing since last Tuesday. 

It was a successful day. 

Thankfully, after a few short hours and a few gallons of Starbucks, I was able to get the house back up to my original pre-kid standards.

The tiny guests started to arrive, along with their doting parents.  The party began outside, but (due to the excessive heat) we eventually made our way in. 

Then, the comments started rolling, like a cardboard toilet paper roll knocked out of the recycle bin and pushed along by a strong gust of wind.   

“Your house is gorgeous!” 

“I love your house!” 

“Your house is so clean!”

“How do you get your house this clean?” 

“Do you have a cleaning lady?” 

“Wow!  I’m moving in!” 

I did what I always do when people pay me compliments:  offer them more cake. 

We had a great time oohing and ahhing over the clean appearance of my home.  After a solid hour of me basking in the awesome splendour that is complimentedness on this special day, my son's birthday, I was ultimately able to steer the conversation back to where it should have been all along:  celebrity gossip.  We got at least a half an hour out of the Tom Cruise/ Katie Holmes divorce, and then we were on to whether the Bachelorette was really a lesbian. 

Finally, it was time to go, and as I escorted the last parent and child to the door with their new beach ball and water gun party favors, The Husband gasped.  

“MOV!  Where’s all our stuff?!?”
 
“Don’t worry.  Nothing was thrown away,” I smiled, “But you might want to be careful opening the hall closet.” 

MOV