It’s Monday morning and I just got my workout.  I workout on Monday and Thursday mornings. Gym? No. Pilates? No. Swim? No.  As soon as I drop the girls at school and Justin at work, I race home and tidy up like crazy – running up and down stairs over and over in 90+ weather.  Monday and Thursday are the days that Maria comes.  She’s our cleaning lady – everyone here says “maid” but I can’t bring myself to use the word. 

Maria is in her mid 50s but appears much older.  She is incredibly strong and sweet and patient with my espanol. This is a woman that on any day in Boston, I would immediately stand up and offer her my seat on the T.  Yet, she comes a couple days a week to clean up after us.  She makes beds, does laundry – including putting away the clothes, washes windows, mops floors, everything except iron because of her athritis.  The trouble is, I feel like a jackass if I am home while she is doing this – plus I don’t like the girls thinking they can leave messes for Maria. So, I race back home and put everything away and get the laundry sorted.  I’m thrilled if she just mops and washes dishes – two things I can’t stand and am horrible at doing.  This isn’t new for me, I would run around before our cleaning guy in Brookline came too (I seem to recall learning this from my mother who would do this before Elena would come in my youth!).

Sometimes, that allows her extra time to do some other things – like the girls’ hair.  She has three sons, so she loves doing the girls’ hair.

 

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