I came through the door and almost didn't recognize the place. Joe had been busy cleaning and tidying and it really showed. The place hasn't been like this since, well, never. We don't live like this. We're clean but we're untidy. Books piled on the couch. Papers littering the front room. Dog toys and bits of dog toys hiding just under the lip of the chairs. We live here and it shows. But today it looked like we'd walked into a display unit and that a salesman would come soon to talk us into a time share.
Once in, I sat down in my chair and immediately pushed the button that raised my feet up and I settled in. I asked Joe if he wanted to watch something on television for a few minutes. He was frantic. "No," he said, "I've vacuumed the floors, now I have to wash them, then I have to change the sheets on the bed and tidy up the bedroom." I looked at the floors, they were already spotless. But, in seconds he was in there with the mop washing every square inch.
"I'm making the bed in case you need to be see in there rather than out here," he explained.
When he was finally done I took a look and the bedroom looked amazing. Everything had been organized and dusted and arranged for public view. "WOW". I sad and could see from Joe's face that this was the right response.
So what was going on?
We were going to have our first visit by the home care nurse who was coming to ensure that the healing was progressing. That I was fighting off the infection. That I was getting well.
In Joe's mind, he was going to get graded on a scale that veered from 'loving spouse' to 'slovenly attendant,' and he was determined to pass the test.
The nurse ended up being almost 4 hours late, but she came in and worked with me in the front room, I almost wanted to invite her to glance into the bedroom because it looked so awesome, but I figured that would be weird.
She pronounced me 'on the road to recovery.'
I am now officially on notice.
I'm getting better.
And I live in a very, very, clean and tidy home. (For a day or two at least.)