For the first time in about a year and a half, I have clean carpets. Hoo boy! Nothing says “1950’s housewife” like the excitement I felt about getting the carpets cleaned, with the exception of maybe obtaining some kind of household appliance. And let me tell you, the excitement was contagious. It was like the freaking circus just came to town for the boys. All day they waited, anticipating Mr. Carpet Cleaner’s arrival. His van was spotted outside at 3:27. “HE’S HEEERRRRREEEEE!!!!” screamed Jake. Mark flung the door open as the unsuspecting carpet cleaner started up our walk. “HEELLLLLOOOOOO!!!!” Judging by his somewhat alarmed expression, clearly Mr. Carpet Cleaner was not accustomed to such an enthusiastic welcome. That was just the beginning. “Is that your vacuum? Is that your vacuum hose? Is that how you plug it in?” The questions were nonstop and the glee was not containable. It kind of made me feel bad. Like how deprived are my children that the carpet cleaner brings them such joy?

Any time we have had people working in our house the kids have been completely engrossed by the progress of the job. A couple of years ago we had the interior doors replaced, and Mark practically stalked the guy doing the job. There was a constant, running commentary from him: “Look, he’s taking off his hat! He’s picking up a hammer! He’s drinking water from a water bottle!” It was a little awkward, not unlike yesterday’s mayhem. I always have a nagging concern that these guys are going to mistake the boys’ enthusiasm for MY enthusiasm, and mistake me for a cougarish, lonely housewife, as in certain adult films. Like maybe I’m going to show up in a short satin robe with those fluffy mule slippers. “Is that your screwdriver? It’s really BIG.”

Anyway. The carpet is clean, even the stain from Barkley throwing up potting soil has been removed. So I am excited! Because forget the lonely housewife, that stain was turning me into a crazed Lady Macbeth.