Coming Clean

Confession:

This afternoon finds me trying to muster up enough courage to clean the things in my home that need to be cleaned. So far on the list: the stove, the outside freezer, the dogs and their crates, the guest bathroom, a load of dirty whites waiting in the laundry cue, my toddler, my bathroom, my closet, and...well, me, of course.

See why I have to gather my courage? 

Luckily, for today, I have a clear picture as to what I need to do to clean each of the dirty things screaming for my attention. That is not always the case.

Being the germophobe that I am, I regularly find myself in situations where I am sure that the dirty deed is so great, it cannot possibly be undone. Not even with all the Lysol in the world.

Such a time happened last Tuesday. Our family was at the Blue and Gold Banquet for our beloved cub scout. The theme was Star Wars, and everyone dressed up--except me, because I was sewing a Jedi robe up until the very last minute. If asked about my lack of spirit, I had planned to tell people I was Jabba the Hut, obviously. Strangely, no one asked. I guess they knew that without my explanation.

We took three Jedi masters, Princess Leia, Yoda (who quickly shed her costume and looked more like Orphan Annie), and Captain Hook, a.k.a., I Do NOT Want To Be Darth Vader. With those impressive characters in the cast, I thought that we would be prepared for what the night might bring. The force was strong with us, and dinner was made for us. Nothing could go too wrong.

Or so I thought.

A little while after dinner, my three-year-old was missing. I wasn't too concerned; I just had my eyes on her, and she was happily playing hide-and-seek. The friend she was playing with was also missing.

After a few minutes, the friend's mother (my friend) came to me to report that she had just found our girls.

Are you sitting down?

They were coming out of the Boys' Bathroom, to the tune of a flushing toilet in the background.

When I heard the news, my mouth went dry and my stomach turned. I was envisioning all the breaches of public bathroom protocol that had undoubtedly occurred without my vigilant watch: no toilet seat liner, no toilet paper to hold onto handles, no washing of hands, no paper towels to open the door.

Have you ever been in a boys' bathroom? Have you cleaned up after boys who use the bathroom? If so, I offer my deepest condolences and ask a my profoundest questions. How do they miss so completely? Why does it smell that bad? Did something die in here, like, last month? How long has the toilet paper been gone? When was the soap last used? Why was the flusher so entirely ignored? The wall??? Really? How many "gentlemen" have used this space in its present condition? How many perpetrators decided washing was optional?

Some things I will never understand.

I tried to remain calm. I pulled my daughter close and started interrogating her.

"Did you go into the boys' bathroom?" My voice quivered.

"Yes."

"Oh, Honey! Why?"

"I had to go potty."

"Well, I'm glad you went potty. Did you wash your hands?"

"No."

"Oh, Honey! Why ever not?"

"There wasn't a stool."

"Let's have Daddy wash your hands."

I started wondering how I could make her clean. I quickly concluded, There's just no amount of Lysol in this world!

When we got home, she soaked in the tub for a long time, and I scrubbed her until she was red. But I'm still not convinced she'll ever be completely clean again. In fact, I'm sure she's tainted for life. She seems unaffected though. So I try to distract myself from the thoughts of multiplying microbes with the one thought that gives me courage in my battle to make the world sanitary.

If only my finger dispensed an unlimited amount of Lysol spray. Perhaps with all the Lysol in the universe...