It took me a while, but I’ve learned a lesson. Lindsey and I speak different languages. It turns out we mean different things by the word “clean”.

Lindsey has a couple days off school, and today she got downright industrious in the house. When she texted me while I was at work she described her work as “cleaning”. When I got home I found out that it was much more than that.

She cleaned out closets, scrubbed things clean, re-decorated two rooms in part and more. I would not have called it cleaning, I would have called it something… I don’t know, something much more involved.

You see to me “clean” means, an absence of dirt, and a small amount of organization. Before Lindsey moved in I thought my house was, for the most part, clean. To Lindsey the word carries connotations of organization, sparkling floors, made beds, and well, a general sense of order. We’re clearly not on the same page yet.

So today I came home to a wonderfully “clean” home, in both senses of the word.

Not used to it yet

Yesterday I slept all afternoon while Lindsey cleaned most of the house. To be fair, I was actually quite sick. But still, there I was sleeping the day away and Lindsey was getting the house into shape.

I’m not used to her level of commitment to a clean house. A clean house is peaceful to her, a messy one is chaos. If I’m honest, I like a clean house, but if its disorganized… oh well. We are quite different in that way. When I woke up yesterday I was certainly glad to see it, but I almost immediately felt guilty that I didn’t help.

I wish I was wired like her, it would make it a lot easier for me to help, and to know how to help. I still don’t have drive to do the dirty work, but I want to. I think that is helping make some progress. Slowly.