I Don't Know How

So, we are finally moved. We started moving the 12th of December. From building 1 to building 2. You wouldn't think that would be too difficult. Especially since our new apartment is semi-basement. Meaning, the windows are a few inches above the ground. This was great for moving things in. We cleared the way and opened the window. Yes, it looked to the outside world that we were running a drive-thru (walk-thru?) for heaven only knows what (coffee? crack?), but definitely preferable to navigating different sets of stairs and the lovely Iowa winter weather.
As I am not allowed to lift over 10 pounds, I offered to man the window. This meant that the darling boyfriend (DB) carried things over from our old apartment and passed them through the window to me. I then ran to whichever room the items the box contained belonged to, and quickly emptied it in time to be at the window for the next load. ("Do you think we need more boxes?" "Nah, these will be plenty. We will just keep emptying them and reusing them.")
Needless to say, some of these boxes weighed over 10 pounds. What's a girl to do? Sit on her ass while everyone else moves (mostly) HER stuff? Yeah right! (Did I mention that I am a slight control freak?)
Taking a step back, the move-in date had been moved forward and backward several times, which resulted in us not being able to lock in anyone to assist us. Luckily for me, an old friend recently popped back up in my life, and having recently been dumped, had plenty of time on her hands to help. Yippee!
So Day One of moving was tackled with much gusto and enthusiasm. Having such a small apartment, we didn't think it would take long to move. Ha! Apparently all those organizational books I read really did sink in. I was amazed at how much stuff (crap) I was able to fit into that tiny little apartment!
Day Two rolls around, and DB has arranged for his father to come help move the "big stuff". Not much stuff, but I definitely couldn't move it. So they move the mattress, the box springs, the sofa and my archaic 30" bedroom tv. (Seriously, the thing weighs 125 pounds!) They also bring over a large piece of furniture that I found at a flea market and have refinished and named "my sideboard". I put a LOT of work into this piece, stripping, sanding, picking out just the right colors of paint, base coating and painting with a strie technique and finishing with 2 coats of varnish. It is beautiful! It is also.....scratched. Ugh. But I suck it up (I am thankful for the help...I am thankful for the help...). Of course ALL THIS moving has been very strenuous. We must take a break! And we resume moving.... tomorrow. Awesome. What can I say? Do I crack my whip? Do I shove Darling Boyfriend out the door to move more stuff while I sit on my derrierre? Cuz THAT would go over well.
So over the course of the next several days some more stuff makes it over. Thanks to much whining and prodding from me. And a lot of it remains. So I attempt guilt. "Ok", I announce,"We need to get the rest of our stuff moved, so I guess I will head over there." I pull out the bottle of heavy-duty painkillers I am on daily, sigh dramatically and pop 2 into my mouth. I head out the door with a determined step. I get to the old apartment and look around. Holy crap there is a lot of cat hair that was hiding beneath all our stuff! Otherwise, things don't look so bad. I walk through each room to see what needs to be done. A little here, a little there. So I start putting things in two piles. One for trash, and one for things that go to the new place. I then take the broom and sweep up all the dust and cat hair and dump it into a trash bag. I look around and think, "That wasn't so bad!" Only took two hours. and luckily for me, it eventually led to a trip to the ER on New Year's Eve eve for a shot in the butt and two new meds to add to my daily regimen. Yay me.
The next night when DB comes home, I state, "I packed up everything that is left in the old place. On one side of the room is trash that needs to go out. On the other side is what needs to be brought over here. This is non-negotiable. We have been moving for 3 weeks and I am ready to be done." "Ok." (Was it SERIOUSLY that easy?!?)
My phone rings the next day. It is the landlord calling to say that they really need my old apartment so they can get it ready to lease. "No problem, I finished removing everything yesterday and it is ready to go. I need to patch the wall where my shelves were, but everything else is done."
"Don't worry about patching the walls, the paint person can do that."
"Oh ok. It's just that the holes are kind of large and I didn't want to leave them like that."
"Seriously, don't worry about it."
"Ok then, I guess we are done."
The next day, the phone rings. It's the landlord again. "I stopped by your old place today and, um... it really needs to be cleaned. There is food in the refrigerator and it just really needs to be cleaned."
"Oh, ok. I guess I forgot about cleaning the fridge. I will get that done asap."
So I start loading up cleaning supplies and tell DB that we are going to clean the apartment. He looks slightly surprised. I explain the phone call. He helps me carry things over and we get started. I should say, I get started. He stands there and shuffles his feet and says, "Where do you want me to start?"
"Wherever you want to."
More foot shuffling.
"Do you want me to start in the bedroom?"
"Sure honey, that sounds great."
"What do you want me to use?"
"Whatever you want."
"This blue and white thing?"
"Sure, that takes marks off walls. Let me show you how it works." I take the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser and run it under the tap to wet it. I then ring it out and start to wipe a wall, saying "Just pay attention because the white part wears away as you use it."
"Ok."
I hear a little bit of scrubbing in the bedroom- maybe 45 seconds worth- then, "Should I use some kind of spray on the walls? This isn't really working."
"Sure, use whatever you want."
"Well which one should I use?"
"Whichever one you prefer." (I have already worked up a sweat with the cleaning of the fridge and other kitchen appliances.)
"I don't know which one is better."
At this point I stop scrubbing and look at him. Is he trying to piss me off? Does he think he is going to get out of this? What is his agenda? Time for a little tough love.
"Honey. There is a ton of stuff to be done. Just pick whatever you want to do and do it. Use whatever you want. I don't care, I just want to get done," I say as I head to the bathroom to start in there. "Here," I say, "take this bottle of cleaner and walk through the apartment. Everywhere you see a dirty spot, spray it. When you are done, go back and wipe it down."
For a few minutes I hear him wandering and spraying. Sounds good. Then he appears in the bathroom.
"Ok, I sprayed everything. Now what?"
"Now you go wipe down all those areas."
"With what?"
"With whatever you want. Go grab a scrubber."
"What's a scrubber?"
O. M. F. G. Did he REALLY just ask me that? "A scrubber," I say in a slightly elevated voice, "a thing you scrub with!"
"Well how am I supposed to know? You mean this blue thing?"
"NO, that is a wall cleaner. A scrubber is either the orange scrubby thing with a handle or the scrub brush!"
"Don't yell at me! If you came to my work and I told you to get a blahblahblah and you came back with a blahblah I wouldn't yell at you. I wouldn't expect you to know these things. You want me to clean and I don't know how!"

Seriously? Don't know how?

It isn't rocket science people. And that lame assed excuse doesn't fly. Next week we start our new lessons! Bathrooms 101.