Heaven Scent

 As a super sensor smells are really important to me. Like really. I smell everything. I mean, I don't physically lift it to my nose... but I might as well.

I appreciate the subtleties of nature. And real perfume. The good kind. The kind with crisp clear flavor notes, blended to perfection. Like Autumn. I sniff my clean laundry as I fold it, warm and cozy - comfort.
And there is nothing, and I mean nothing, like the aura that emanates from a damp little boy right out of the bath.

I get headaches if a scent is too strong. And nauseated if I smell a gross smell too long (like the way the small grocery store in my town smells at lunch time... it has a kitchen in the back with daily specials. The combination of grilled chicken, hot soup, cheesy home-style mac mixed with the aroma of a baking cake... shudder)

One of the problems with having a super sensitive smeller is that my own home rarely has an acceptable perfumed essence. I frequently  daily walk in the door and wrinkle my nose. Peeeeeuuuuuu.

The mornings are maybe the worst. Morning breath infiltrates every square inch of my home. I do believe that the oxygen molecules in my home literally change to absorb the dank  breathy "goodmornings" and mixes them with the arduous air from last evenings dinner.  GAG!

As a result I have been a paranoid clean freak. Obsessively vacuuming, dusting, wiping, spraying, washing and rewashing. I made sure I cleaned with a specific solution. Using essential oils to create the  incensed atmosphere I desired. Additionally, I organize. EVERYTHING. As if an organized spice cabinet would regulate the way the spices combined their aroma. (it does not)

 I was really bad when we were first married. He gently and consistently wore me down. Slowly over the years I have allowed myself to relax.... but I am known to get a bad whiff and go into a compulsive spray and wipe attack on every available surface.

 As a (recently) recovering control freak and a woman who has been physically ill for many months, my cleaning schedule has been sadly sub par. The other day I actually wrote my name in the dust on the TV stand to see if I could. (eye roll) And there have been nights where I threw a towel over a sink full of dirty dishes, too tired to load the empty dishwasher. (gasp)

On a recent morning a new scent entered the abysmal morning bouquet. A tang. Slightly sour. I opened a window to enjoy the nice fall day with hopes to air out the home, freshen it.

But it stayed.  And grew. Sitting on the couch, curled up in a blanket reading a book it settled on my shoulders like a shroud. I began to sniff the blanket, the couch, the throw pillows. I couldn't identify the source. (one of my secret talents... I'm a literal bloodhound) I grabbed the Febreeze and bombed the living room, even spraying the rug.

But, it would not leave, taking on a life of its own. Musty with underlying tones of feet and sweat. Taunting me. Laughingly it filled ever crevice.

 I became obsessed with eradicating it. Candles, air freshener... I even bought one of those scented thingies you stick in the wall, suffering through the heady disdain I have for the thick fake incense.

 To no avail.

One day I was outside escaping from and thinking about the smell, wondering why it had a familiar feel to it, conjuring up memories of childhood...
With a shriek I remembered.
Suddenly I was back in Elizabethtown in the sprawling home of a childhood playmate of mine. He had 4 brothers and a mother who liked to wrestle more than scrub. While their home was as welcoming as any I have ever experienced it was not cozy. I remember they had a living room side table with a large compartment hidden behind a decorative door FULL of socks. If socks were desired, you dug through the heap until you found two that resembled each other. It was there where I realized that in some home wearing shoes inside  is a necessity - as crumbs between the toes feel nasty. At their house we could eat anywhere we wanted and not wash when we were done. (score)

My home now smelled like that. THAT.

 I calculated how long it had been since I had grabbed the rags, made my gorgeous custom cleaning solution, wiped down my walls, scrubbed my wooden floors.
Though I was alone, my face began to burn with self imposed humiliation.
"A fresh home is a clean home," has been my unspoken motivation for .. well... ever.
I had severely fallen short.

In a panic I ran inside, inspired to clean like I never have before.


On the plus side:
I do believe my obsession with cleaning is gone.
My dire control over dirt is regulated  (maybe)  

And once again my home is back to its familiar stench.
AAAHHHHHHHH!