Do you have a Bob or Bobby in your life? You should. Bob is this salt of the earth fella who cleans our house every other Tuesday.
Bob is my everything.
Bob is underpaid; not because I underpay him, but because he has a rate that he refuses to raise. He doesn’t know his value like I do.
The thing about having someone come to clean your house on any sort of regular basis—it’s the greatest luxury you might ever know. I used to feel guilty and all “first-world” about the whole thing, like: who am I to have someone cleaning my house? When I got over myself, I got Bob.
Many years ago before he was a part of our lives, we had Bonnie. Bonnie arrived on the scene when I became a new mom and my parents said, “Hey honey, we’ve decided to get you a cleaning service as a baby gift.”
I know now that the entire chain of events was related to my inability to have a kid and do much of anything else simultaneously. I was sleep deprived and there was usually vomit on my cheek. Reflux (my little bundle of joy’s, not mine) was not compatible with a clean house.
My parents, being the tidy people they are, decided that my house was going to hell in a hand basket. They were not wrong.
Anyway, we had Bonnie on their dime. It was heaven.
Months later, I got my groove back and figured out how to function as a parent AND keep the kitchen clean. Bonnie went on to save a new family from soap scum and dust bunnies.
So there I was, vacuuming, doing laundry, raising two small people and pretty much back in the rat race with freelance writing jobs.
It wasn't long before our house got all “Hoarders” looking.
Enter Bob.
Sometimes I come home on Tuesdays after he has cleaned and I swear to you, I hear angels singing. My kids even revel at his good works. They call him Bobby and their eyes get all big when they speak of him. No sh*t, he's like Santa in these parts.
Bob is here to stay. If I have to work on the weekends to pay for him, I will. Bob is better at taking care of my house than I will ever be. Why would I want to keep his light from shining?
Love you, Bob.