My dirty little secret.

Hollywood’s Dirty Little Secret is the Nanny. Whilst they are kept firmly in the background, viagra canada surely it’s widely known among the wise that the nanny is the cog in the well-oiled machine that is the modern celebrity family. The closest I’ll ever get to an A-Lister is gazing at them in my weekly fix of trashy tabloid tat through sleepy eyes on a Sunday morning whilst spooning mouthfuls of Weetabix into Little Monster Blue and simultaneously attempting to wrestle the TV remote control from his sticky fingers – so there is fat chance of me having a nanny anytime soon. I do however have my own dirty little secret.

I have a cleaner.

Now before I launch into a great big spiel justifying this (perfectly capable of taking a cloth and a squirt of Cif to my bathroom sink as I am) let me say just this –  I am not embarrassed to admit that someone else literally does my dirty laundry.  Just as the celeb mums with their armies of nannies, don’t always openly state that they have hired help, I don’t broadcast it to all and sundry (well, didn’t until now.) This is mainly because it’s my money, my choice and my business (and my mother is still reeling from the shock of me letting someone else scrub my kitchen floors – god knows what my mother-in-law would think!)

Believe it or not, having a cleaner or ‘lifestyle manager’ as she likes to call herself, actually gives me a sense of control in my home environment.  My life is one big juggling act of conference calls, nappy changes, show and tell preparations, project plans, bedtime stories and business cases and if I were to throw cleaning my house into the equation, well, I’d probably get my P45 from the circus.

Don’t get me wrong, I still RUN the house. I just don’t clean it.  I still open, read, deal with and file all the mail. I still pack the lunches, cook the dinners, make the late evening trips to the local corner shop when we run out of milk. I take the empty toilet roll tube off the loo roll holder and replenish it with a new one. I throw out the week old bread and eggs that went out of date last Tuesday.  I arrange home insurance when it needs renewed. I make the calls to the dentist when the reminder comes in for our 6 monthly check-ups. I make sure the kids go out wearing outdoor clothes fit for the season (and not (a) pyjamas or (b) summer dresses in winter). Super Daddy is great too. He puts the bin out every week and on Sundays he even puts the toilet seat down.

So on a Monday morning, when we’ve all exited the premises after the usual rush of hair plaiting, teeth brushing, sock matching and jacket finding, along comes Linda. She lets herself in, and probably makes herself a cuppa, pulls on her yellow marigolds and works her way methodically through my list of cleaning tasks (remember how much I love a list.) I like to think she puts on the radio, sings along very loudly and badly as she sweeps, dusts, hoovers, polishes, rinses and folds with the end result being my house shining like a new pin.

So my justification – and it actually isn’t that lengthy – I don’t want to spend my evenings and weekends knee deep in grime, I don’t want my best efforts thwarted when my kids drop their dinner on the just washed swept and washed kitchen floor.  I want to be comfortable in my home, knowing that any visitors who might pop in are coming to see our family and not their own reflections in my bathroom taps. And most importantly, any semblance of the adult social life I once enjoyed, was put to bed when the kids came along. My money is no longer spent on boozy Saturday afternoons with the girls, weekend city breaks or luxurious Caribbean holidays with my love, concert tickets, theatre trips, and indulgent beauty days with exorbitant price tags….

No, no, no…..I’d rather spend my money on the excited anticipation that comes from knowing that as I walk through the front door on a Monday evening, the smell of bleach, antibacterial wipes and camomile wood floor polish is going to envelope me and my spotless shower cubicle is going to send me wild.

Simply thrilling!

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