Growing up, my parents always seemed to get the spring clean itch right around mid-March. My spring-early fall Saturdays would start with my dad blasting Van Halen on Surround Sound while he mopped the kitchen floor, and I regularly took all afternoon to clean my room, distracted by books and napping in sun-soaked beams on my carpet. After these days of cleaning, I would often come downstairs to my family in the backyard, the door wide open, and a lemon-scented candle burning in the kitchen.
