I am pretty confident there is nothing I can't clean. I think of it as a battle. Woman versus mess. My Friend Ellie's weapon is Biz Bleach, my mother swore by laundry detergent, but only the suds, myself, I prefer Oxyclean.
My 4 1/2 -year-old tends to barf when he coughs too much when he is lying down. This has resulted in many a soiled bedcover, and if we are lucky he only hits the sheets and not the blanket and comforter. When he was younger, if he had a cough, we would put him to bed with a "barf bucket, " which, I swear, is an old Oxyclean container. Anyway, as of late we feel like he is old enough to make it to the restroom. Difficult, yes, because he doesn't always feel it coming on. The most recent occurrence, he almost made it to the potty.
Allow me to digress a moment. Many years ago my father traveled extensively for work, all over Europe and Asia. He frequently brought back artifacts he found along his journeys. One time, while in China, he saw a beautiful china blue wool oval rug, decorated with images of the four seasons as the artist perceived them. I don't know if you know this, but the quality of a rug is determined by how many fibers are in the surface. You cannot even penetrate this rug with your finger. It's about eight feet by 5 feet, and when we moved to this house, my father graciously gifted the rug to us because it fit perfectly in our center hall on the second floor. You, Dear Reader, are not stupid; you know where this is going.
So, back to the main crux of this tale. One evening I was sitting in the office writing when I hear Atticus' door open and see him run across the hallway. I knew he was attempting to get to the potty, and I was such a proud parent. He barfed a little in the potty, and I repeated "I am so proud of you, I am so proud of you," as he sobbed. Mark came and cleaned him up as I changed the sheets. We finally got him tucked back in, and as I was heading to take the sheets to the basement, I looked down. You guessed it. [WARNING YUCK YUCK AHEAD] In a path from Attie's room to the bathroom was a swath of barf. Chunky barf. I stood there for a moment, wheels turning in my head. I could only think of sending the rug out for cleaning. Then I took the sheets to the basement. The Oxyclean container mocked me from the shelf as if to say "I dare you." I grabbed a bucket, a scrub brush, and a few towels and whipped up a batch of Oxyclean.
[WARNING YUCK YUCK AHEAD] Step 1. With the brush, I brushed the chunks onto the hardwood floor where I could mop them up. Step 2. Using the scrub brush and some Oxyclean (mostly just suds, thank you Mom) I brushed the surface until it no longer smelled putrid (yes, I had to put my nose down there which excessively grossed out my husband). Step 3. We then took towels, laid them out and continued to dance around on them, rotating to new ones until they came up dry. I do not discount the density of the rug, but that does not take away from the genius of the process. Done. Mark looked at me with awe and amazement. By morning there was no evidence of a disaster at all.
Believe it or not, that is not even my proudest achievement. My coup was when Charlie was about 14 months old. We had just gotten the first furniture we've ever had that wasn't either passed down or purchased at "Value City" furniture. Somehow my angel got ahold of a Sharpie ( for which I take full responsibility) and in a matter of minutes took it to the new couch, entertainment center, floor and dining room wall which had wallpaper. I freaked. Then I vaguely remembered from my retail days that rubbing alcohol got ball point pen out of fabric. Might as well give it a shot, right? I had also learned by experience you have to dab these things, not wipe or you just spread it around. The entertainment center and wood floor were a breeze. The dining room wallpaper would not come clean. I did not expect it to. Sharpies are supposed to be permanent on paper, right? So I chalked that up to stupidity on may part, but it didn't really matter because we would eventually replace that wallpaper.
I stared at the couch. If I messed this up, the warranty would be void. The pressure was on. I looked at the stain. "You versus me," I thought. I dabbed. I looked at the cotton ball. There was some ink on it. I was encouraged. I dabbed some more. Same deal. I decided to get a cloth. More ink came off. I dabbed faster, the stain started to fade. Thirty minutes later I was victorious. I looked at the clean couch, and collapsed on the floor, spent. Then, just for good measure, I cleaned the area with Oxyclean to remove any rubbing alcohol residue.
The moral of the story is this: No talent is insignificant. No battle too small. Whatever it is that you can do to improve this planet is very important, even if it's your little corner of it.
