• Jena

And that’s why we clean..

Updated: Feb 15, 2020

I’ve never really been able to figure out why I have this pressing need to clean my dungeon.  I mean, really.    It’s just this empty storage area where everything else goes that doesn’t go anywhere else specifically.  You know.. the 25 gallon roaster pan, dead mice and supplies for making them dead, and miscellaneous large ticket items like a water softener, turpentine and enough magnets to throw the earth’s gravitational pull out of balance.

So, I am rather O.C.D. about getting it up to speed every January. I have crazy labels everywhere.  Who cares if 99% of it has no earthly value whatsoever?  If we have it, we’re going use it and know where it is.  And I’m very protective of my dungeon.    I’m not even sure why until this past weekend.

So, there we were.

The entire Webber family (5 kids and 2 adults), and..  a house full of overnight guests and friends.  Without going into details about who was here and what, if you don’t count the baby in the womb of one of our guests, we had 18 people total.

And with very little warning, that siren that means “get into your basement dungeon” went off.  I think we’ve been here for almost 12 years, and I’ve never had to take tornado shelter cover until this. very. moment.

And then we piled all of us in a small space in the center of the dungeon.  No one was more proud of my OCD  than me (at that moment).  Not that the place was perfect or anything, but we could all fit on folding chairs in a circle in the safest part of the house.  All the little ones were on the floor, hugging on to their parents’ legs.

And just at that moment, I had an idea.

“Let’s pretend we are the persecuted church!” I blurted out.. “We can sing and pray with our hands up and our eyes closed, in the dark, all crowded.. like.. they do in those countries..”

 I’m not sure why everyone did not jump that this awesome opportunity.

I was really to pour my heart out in worship, just like they do.  They worship for real.  We worship for polite.

I should say this.  All three families are of the same belief system, if you will.  We really do worship.  But putting your hands up and all?  I might as well suggested that we all get nude.

It’s no wonder that when I threw my hands up in the air to demonstrate and someone snapped a picture, the only thing visible is me looking like a lunatic and everyone else looking on with furrowed brows.

  So much for that fun game. No wonder the kids were scared.  Not only is there a tornado out there, but now we are being persecuted!

So, the game of “Quirkle” was played instead.  While we were down there, we realized it was the birthday of one of our guests.  We’ll just call him “Dan”.  And let’s just make up a random age of “41”.

Now, if you were a random guy named “Dan” who had managed to hide it from the world that you were turning “41”–wouldn’t you just love being serenaded by a mariachi birthday solo?  Yes, we really did make him wear the large sombrero and hold the “Barney Banjo” while our talented and esteemed guest sang to him.

At this point, Dan was already realizing that the game of “persecuted church” was going to be more palatable than this experience.  Hey dude.  You made your choice.

So, now I know why I clean.  It has nothing to do with finding stuff or getting a high from blitzing and being organized.  It’s just that just about anybody will go anywhere in your home.  And they often do.

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