Mr. Clean, AKA husband Jon, caught my attention the other day when he said he was "going out to the garage to vacuum my vacuum". Come again? I followed to see what that was about. He took our small, handheld vacuum out and cleaned it up inside with the Shopvac. How many people do that, I wondered.
Last night he mentioned he had "backed up my backup" on his computer. Careful guy. Swiss and German genes. Clean and methodical. His mom was the cleanest person I ever met. People's eyes get wide in disbelief when I say she would scrub her sidewalks yearly. Scrub them on hands and knees with a bucket and brush. She did the same on the siding of the house and garage floor. That place sparkled. All this was a mite intimidating for a new daughter in-law. I coped by not trying to keep up to those standards. It shows. Her legacy lives on with her son and daughter. Things in their keeping still sparkle but I don't think they do the sidewalks on hands and knees. How Catherine would have loved Jon's power washer. Does the job and saves the knees.
There is a benefit from living with Mr. Clean. Yesterday he cleaned the stove top and shined up the appliances. My feelings aren't hurt. I just have to remember to notice and give him a hug. Keep up the good work, Mr. Clean.