One of our favorite books to read aloud when the children were young was The Tale of Mrs. Tittlemouse by Beatrix Potter. Mrs. Tittlemouse is a very tidy little mouse and she lives in a small house full of passageways tucked into the roots of a hedge.

Mrs. T. has her hands full in the story. Ladybugs, spiders, bees and a large untidy toad named Mr. Jackson all come to call — without invitations — and Mrs. Tittlemouse shoos them out of her house, wipes up their footprints and undertakes a spring cleaning that lasts a fortnight.

It’s about this time of year, every year, that I began to feel like Mrs. Tittlemouse. My attention turns from outside to in. I suddenly notice the piles of junk in the basement, the dust on the tables, the stains in the carpet. I make people take off their shoes when they enter the house.

This attitude won’t last long. Soon my eyes will grow accustomed to the dim light; I’ll no longer notice what needs to be done. But today, at least, I’m channeling Mrs. Tittlemouse.

(Illustration by Beatrix Potter)