It's time to fess up: what awesome pre-holiday, pre-guest cleaning tips do you have to share with a very pregnant person who inherited the chaos gene? I'm not talking about FlyL@dy shiny sinks or passive-aggressive-Martha-advice. I'm talking dim the lights and light some candles survival.
I'm talking about this:
"I glanced involuntarily at the heap of ashes in the grate, but she saw them as no obstacle at all. From a scratched oak box beside the hearth, she produced three firelighters and a handful of sticks. These went on top of the ashes, which got only a desultory poke. She struck a match, lit the firelighters, and made a wigwam of coal. The new fire flared up good-temperedly on the body of the old while Madge took the hearth brush and swept a few cinders out of sight behind a pile of logs.
Fascinated, I watched her continue with her housework. She drifted across to the dead flowers, opened the window, and threw them out. She emptied the water from the vase after them, then put it back on the windowsill and shut the window.
From behind the sofa... she pulled out a large brown cardboard box.... [O]n the inside it was half filled with the same sort of jumble which was lying around the room. She wafted methodically around in a large circle, taking everything up and throwing it just as it was into the box, a process which took approximately three minutes. She then pushed the box out of sight again behind the sofa and plumped up the seat cushions of two armchairs on her way back to the door. The room, tidy and with the brightly blazing fire, looked staggeringly different. The cobwebs were still there but one felt it might be their turn tomorrow. [Her son] was right. Ma had got the time-and-motion kick completely buttoned up, and what did it matter if the motive was laziness?"
--Dick Francis, Forfeit
Go! Meanwhile, I guess I'll get off the computer and start. *Sigh.*