Clean Bathoom, Clear Mind

Let’s be honest—cleaning bathrooms isn’t glamorous. It’s not something I dreamed about as a little girl. I never imagined a sparkling toilet would bring me a sense of calm or that wiping down the sides of the bowl (yes, the sides!) would one day be the hill I’d choose to die on. But here we are.

When Mom worked Saturdays, Michelle and I cleaned the house before she got home. I knew she didn’t just work at the law office until noon. No, she padded her time—grocery shopping, running errands, and circling town like a hawk—giving us just enough time to complete our chores and avoid her wrath.

I was on vacuum duty. Michelle handled the dusting. And I, lucky me, cleaned the bathrooms.

I don’t remember anyone ever teaching me exactly how to do it—just that it had to get done. Toilet, sink, counter, mirror, tub. Rinse and repeat. Somehow, I figured it out.

Whoever taught me, though, clearly didn’t pass that wisdom on to my children.

Step one? Scrub the sink with Comet. I’m not sure how much grime we had that warranted sandpaper-in-a-can, but it was a non-negotiable. Next, the mirror got a spritz of Windex or Sparkle. Then the counter was wiped down and every product was put away—not artfully displayed like a teenage Sephora influencer.

The toilet got a thorough scrubbing. I cleaned the inside of the bowl, the front, and—wait for it—the sides. This part, I’ve discovered, is wildly underestimated by modern youth. My kids treat the toilet like it’s only dirty on top. Sorry, sweethearts, dust doesn’t discriminate.

I wiped down the tub walls and shined up the shower doors. The garbage was always emptied after the cleaning so all the dirty paper towels and wipes went out in one final, satisfying act. Then, the rugs were shaken and the floor vacuumed.

Boom. Done.

What is so hard about this?

When my kids were little, Luka got bathroom duty. Why? Because it was small, compact, and easy to evaluate. Did it sparkle? Great. Did it smell like Comet and citrus? Perfect. Did I find toothpaste clumps in the sink afterward? Back to work, kiddo.

As an adult, I still love vacuuming. No one seems to dust anymore. And the kids clean the bathrooms… well… “clean” might be generous.

For a few glorious years, I had a cleaning lady—Carol. She was a gift. She cleaned the bathrooms, and I didn’t have to. I didn’t nag my husband, and the kids were too young. Life was good.

Having someone else clean your bathroom feels like luxury. It’s like having your nails done: not essential for survival, but deeply satisfying. When Craig and I first met, I had both—a cleaning lady and manicured nails. I felt rich. Not “yacht and champagne” rich, but “look-at-my-shiny-sink” rich. And that was enough.

Recently, I started getting my nails done again. A cleaning person? Well, that’s next. Just a matter of time.

Because a clean bathroom is more than a chore checked off a list. It’s a little love letter to myself. It tells me I’m cared for, that I matter, and that no matter how chaotic the world may be, at least the toilet sparkles.

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