I have never been so happy to be from an obsessive-compulsive family full of perfectionists. We closed on our home Friday, and so the Bray-family cleaning festivities began Saturday. We made a party of it, complete with Dutch cookies and French cakes.
My wonderful, wonderful, wonderful father cleaned up Marmaduke-sized dog doo in our Marmaduke-sized yard. My meticulous sisters and aunt and mother scrubbed and scraped up things that forever prove their love. Mike emptied out 3 vacuum canisters of said Marmaduke's hair, and that's only half of the house so far.
I, on the other hand, got very friendly with the master bath and the previous master, Harry McHarryston,'s hair. I could tell you all about this man through his hair. But I won't. My sister, cleaning in the next room, kept saying, "I don't want to hear anymore about this man's hair!" Suffice it to say, this man had a lot of hair, and I have gotten to experience all of it. Esau was a hairy man.
Mike and I went back for a fresh round of scouring today. On the way, we visited a new church. They won us over through three things: 1. They didn't force me to shake their germy hands. I hate that. 2. They provided kleenex at the end of each row. This was big for my husband, Sneezy McSneezerton. 3. They had a carton of whole milk next to the coffee, so I could make Kinder Coffee. These are my kind of people.
The Kinder Coffee then fueled many more hours of ConTac papering, and dusting, and scrubbing.