A Bizarre Sort of Perfectionist

This time last year, I started on a quest to become a better housekeeper. It actually went really well at first. I made it about a month keeping up with the cleaning schedule and really enjoyed having a clean house for just about an hour's worth of effort each day. But when I started keeping a friend's children part-time and started having a few off days here and there, I used it as a convenient excuse to give up because, well, me and cleaning just don't mix.

It's true that housework seems pointless because something clean never STAYS clean. Another part of it is I'm a perfectionist. I know, I know, it's hard to see my Type A personality through all the play-doh on the floor and the dishes in the sink, but it's there. And since I've never excelled at keeping a SPOTLESS house, cleaning at all seems quite overwhelming because it never gets to the point where it's perfect. So I clean some, but it's not RIGHT, therefore it's not good enough, therefore it's demoralizing, therefore why bother? It's logical, right?

This is where I would lay out some grand scheme, but I don't actually have a grand scheme, just a random thought I happened across today. That cleaning checklist is STILL on my wall right next to the computer. I'm not watching any extra kids and my own are both in school for the next 5 months worth of mornings, so it stands to reason that I have the time to get back on track. But where to start? It'd take days to get it right and I'd have to kick my family out during that time to maintain the progress I'd made. And obviously, if I had kicked my family out, I would NOT waste that time cleaning--I'd float in a bubble bath with a good book and a hot chocolate. Or a margarita, whatever.