There is something therapeutic in cleaning my entire house with Lysol (not the smelly disinfectant spray that’s in the nurse’s office in elementary schools, but the spectacular 4 in 1 cleaner that I am officially addicted to).
The lemon breeze smell. The disinfectant properties. The clean-ness of it all. It’s like starting over. (See? Therapeutic.)
So, while the baby sat happily in one of God’s greatest inventions ever, the baby swing, I spent some quality time on my hands and knees (and tippie toes) wiping, scrubbing and scouring.
I know it will get dirty again, but it’s clean now.
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