On being a domestic goddess

I'm getting a (very) sad and slightly pitiful joy from yesterday's new arrival in our happy home (if I can call it that since it hasn't really progressed much from chantier status since we first moved in in May) : a cleaning woman.

I couldn't wait to get home yesterday knowing that someone had spent 2 entire hours dedicated to the sole purpose of cleaning the dust, dried cat vomit and encrusted oatmeal off my surfaces.

As you can tell by my snide remarks, the chantier is not quite progressing. Granted, there are quite a few things that have changed such as being able to enter the front hall (although we still don't use the actual door) which avoids having to wlak through the garage and thus track all the concrete dust up to the rest of the house. The basement was emptied and cleaned which made space for all the crap that was cluttering up the laundry room which means the laundry room can actually be used for its purpose. We also finally painted the windows. The outsides. Only 1 coat. And not Suzanne's since she was napping at the time. But it's progress, right?

So apart from a minor breakdown a month ago and the realization that I am utterly useless in terms of DIY, the fact that someone else is actually cleaning my house now, I feel more in control of my house. Something like a domestic goddess because instead of having to worry about the dirty floors, I can now focus on folding laundry and making dinner.