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Housekeeping is not one of my gifts. I secretly fear the government will institute a rating system like they do for restaurants. I can imagine a huge sign on my front door announcing a grade of "D" to all that enter.

I always, however, make an effort to clean before vacation. Why? Because if I die on the trip, I want everyone that comes through the house to think, "Wow! She was an amazing housekeeper. She must have really loved her family." So in preparation for a family vacation to the Grand Canyon, I began to clean in earnest.

First up: my daughter Zoe's room. I tried to enter, but I couldn't make it across the threshold. The floor was covered! Looking at that room made my head spin - and not in that pleasurable "I''ve just gulped a glass of chardonnay" kind of way. After a 30-minute tirade on having pride in yourself and your bedroom, I charged Zoe with helping me deep clean her room.

Out came two bags of clothes for Goodwill, three bags of garbage, and a million mismatched socks (yes, they all go under the bed…it's physics). At the end, I realized that Zoe had carpet in her bedroom - not particularly clean carpet, but carpet nonetheless.

As I bent down to pick a little scrap of paper off the newly discovered carpet, I saw something sticking out from under the bed. And then I made a big mistake - I actually looked under there. I gasped. I literally gasped.

I began to pull out an assortment of items: stuffed animals, hair bands, used tissues. I found dirty forks, a half-eaten apple, and the cat huddling in a corner chewing on what I think was a ransom note for Jimmy Hoffa.

I moved on to her desk area and was brave enough to look underneath. I found some interesting stuff - the disposable camera from camp two summers ago, a previously undiscovered Watergate tape, and last year's Easter basket only half full of pink grass.

Hours of cleaning gave me time to gain some wisdom - I now understood why Zoe's clothes are wrinkled and smell musty; why she can never find her cell phone or homework; and lastly, why the dog threw up pink Easter grass for two straight weeks.

There is satisfaction in knowing that, at least for a while, her bedroom is livable. The future holds promise, even if I never acknowledge that Zoe's half-eaten apple doesn't fall far from her mother's housekeeping tree. If I should happen to fall into the Grand Canyon or get stomped to death by an elk, well, the house is ready.

Arizona, here we come!

-Missy Nicholson

Missy Nicholson spends her weekdays as a CPA, daydreaming about hiking, the beach and making people laugh. She has been married to her high school sweetheart Nick for 25 years, and they are slowly pushing two beautiful daughters out of the nest. Two spoiled dogs allow them to share their home.