Cleaning heaven

I think I can safely say that I am the most horribly spoiled and decadent person in this part of town right now. I'm also slightly uncomfortable, and for the past hour have not been entirely sure of what to do with myself. You see, as I'm typing this, there is a lady named Satomi running my vacuum through our living room. And she's running it longer than I've ever heard anyone in my family use it. And this is after she dusted every little knick knack in our house, and before she is going to make true on her promise to also clean our bathrooms and get to the kitchen this morning. Yes, the DixieChick family finally has a cleaning lady.

I know I talked about getting a cleaning service months ago, but nothing ever happened. I didn't really know where to start, and had far too many questions for my already overheated brain to answer. I mean, do you just call someone listed in the yellow pages? How do you know they'll do a good job? And how do you know they won't rob you blind or break all your heirlooms? And how much do you pay such a person? And how often should they come over? And what could you expect in terms of standards? I didn't have the answers, and didn't know anyone who did, so in good old DixieChick fashion, I let it slide, and continued to do my own cleaning. And this after even husband-dear applauded my idea (it was actually more the equivalent of bringing out the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders for a half-time show actually), so you can imagine how overworked my brain is most of the time.

And then came the Dutch club. A club full of ladies who are not only Dutch, but who have also lived in this area longer than I have, and who all know all the ins and outs, including cleaning services. So when I brought up my desperate need for a cleaning service (trust me - after realizing I had not had time to clean the kitchen in a month, I was beyond despair), one of the ladies heartily recommended her cleaning lady: Satomi.

So today Satomi is cleaning our house for the first time. It's a very odd experience; there is someone in my house who does not need or want to talk, be fed, or entertained. Instead, she's using my cleaning supplies and is doing something that I'm usually in charge of without wanting any help. All she asked for was some water a while back. Just water and ice. I would have gladly brewed her coffee or tea, but no, just water. And she calls me "Miss" too. I guess this being the south I should be grateful it's not "ma'am", but still. It's not me.

I'm not sure where these Calvinist genes comes from. Well, I'm sure if I think really hard I can come up with a few places like my hard-working parents, grandfathers, and so on, but that's not the point. When talking to my mother the other day, I learned that I apparently come from a very long line of women who had cleaning ladies, or maids, or even private tutors. My mother has always had a cleaning lady, her mother had a cleaning lady, and someone to help out with the kids, and her mother had several young girls to help her out with anything from sewing to laundry to cleaning to child care. Besides concluding that I come from a long line of pampered women, you would think that I am naturally at ease with people working for me. Well, not really.

Now as Steve will gladly tell you, I have no problems bossing people around at work. I'd like to think I'm nice about it, but obviously I could be wrong, and the bottom line is that I do tell people what to do. And don't even think twice about it. I think that I may need to dress the part to make that work at home too. Maybe jeans and a t-shirt make me feel too laid back, and I need to start pulling out my dresspants and button-downs to bring out that managerial spirit. Or maybe it will all click into place when I write her my first check in a few hours. We'll see.

Wow, and she's running the vacuum again. I love her already.