A home is an oasis and a haven for many people. But a lot of common errors are committed that might eventually destroy a house. These are 12 things not to do in order to maintain a tidy and functional home.
1. Use Cleaners with Caution
When used on an inappropriate surface, most cleaners—even multi-surface cleaners—can harm furniture and other home items. For instance, grout in bathtubs, showers, floors, and countertops shouldn’t be cleaned with toilet bowl cleansers. The strong acid content of these cleansers will eventually erode the caulking. Try a homemade solution instead, made with dish soap, hydrogen peroxide, and baking soda. Just make up a mixture, let it soak for at least five minutes, and then use a grout brush or an old toothbrush to scrape the dirt away.
2. Avoid Direct Spraying
It takes a lot of energy to clean surfaces like floors, counters, and appliances, and it is annoying when dirt seems to be left behind. But it can be a film that the cleaners left behind instead of dirt or grime. Instead of spraying the area, use a towel or mop to directly avoid any leftover film or stickiness.
3. Take a Shower Before Leaving
After taking a shower, walking about drenched spreads bacteria far and wide. It may eventually begin to distort the floor or leak beneath, which would lead to the growth of mold. It’s preferable to completely dry off before getting out of the bath or shower.
4. Humidity in Hardwood
Just like dripping shower water can harm the floor, using excessive amounts of water when mopping the floors can also be harmful. In particular, excessive moisture exposure causes warping and damage to hardwood flooring. Try using an oil soap and water mixture or a cleaner designed specifically for hardwood floors while mopping them, being careful not to soak the floors completely in water.
5. Remember the Fan
Most bathrooms and kitchens include exhaust fans, which are functional fixtures. They not only assist prevent mold growth but also purify the air by eliminating contaminants. After a steamy bath or shower, exhaust fans assist remove moisture from the bathroom, which is fantastic news for those who live in extremely humid areas.
6. Wetness in Unexpected Areas
Although most people are aware that bathrooms are ideal sites for mold to develop due to the high volume of water and steam used there, other areas may also be home to some rather unsavory microorganisms. Bacteria thrive in warm, humid, and dark environments. Therefore, the ideal environments for the growth of bacteria and mold are found in toilet or toothbrush holders. Before storing them, it’s a good idea to let them air dry to reduce the formation of bacteria and dangerous pathogens. Another material that provides the perfect habitat for bacterial growth is fabric. Towels should therefore be hung to dry rather than placed in a basket or on the ground. Additionally, to avoid bacterial development, hand towels, rugs, and show towels should be cleaned or sterilized every few weeks.
7. Use Vinegar With Caution
Although vinegar is a great cleaner substitute, some gadgets may be harmed by it. For instance, the high acidity of vinegar might harm dishwasher rubber components. Using vinegar on granite countertops is another situation where it’s not the best cleaning option because it can remove the sealant.
8. Most People Get in bed too early.
Even though making the bed every morning is a wonderful habit, you should hold off for a little bit. Before making the bed, give it a little time to air out to reduce the growth of bacteria and odor-causing bacteria as well as perspiration accumulation.
9. Making Use of a Sponge
Meats and vegetables, in particular, contain a multitude of dangerous bacteria that can spread from one surface to another and land on sponges and wash towels. Consequently, hydrogen peroxide is a more efficient way to eradicate bacteria from cutting boards and won’t contaminate sponges or other areas in the kitchen.
10. Keep the Sun Out of Your Home
Unquestionably, the sun is a superpower that nourishes both our bodies and souls. Doctors advise wearing sunscreen because, well, it’s quite harmful. However, furniture can also sustain damage from the sun’s rays. To avoid overexposing furniture to the sun, it is therefore a good idea to close curtains and blinds when leaving the house.
11. Using a Sweep rather than a Vacuum
Using a broom to sweep the floor might aid in removing some dust and pet hair. Nevertheless, extra dust is frequently dispersed when cleaning and then emptying a dustpan. Instead, even on hard floors, a vacuum will gather dust and debris.
12. Avoid overfilling anything
It’s easy to overstock pantries, closets, and storage beneath the house with all of your favorite items. But this could lead to a lot of issues with your house. Airflow can be obstructed by overcrowding, which is inefficient and expensive. However, it can also retain moisture, harming the structural integrity of the house. Moreover, excessive weight in closets might result in similar issues since it can harm the walls.
My Brother Forbade Me from Giving the Speech at Our Mom’s Funeral Because ‘No One Wants to Hear from the Adopted One’
Have you ever had someone try to erase you from your own story? To tell you that the love you lived wasn’t real enough? That’s what happened when my brother decided I wasn’t family enough to say goodbye to our mother.
The house feels so empty now. I walk through rooms that still smell like her lavender hand cream and expect to hear her voice calling from the kitchen. It’s been two weeks since we lost Mom to ovarian cancer, and the hollow feeling in my chest has only grown deeper with each passing day.
A bedroom | Source: Midjourney
“Emily, honey, are you eating?” My aunt Susan calls twice a day to check on me. “Your mother would want you to take care of yourself.”
I manage a weak “yes” even though the refrigerator is filled with untouched casseroles from well-meaning neighbors. Food tastes like nothing these days.
Mom was everything to me, and it’s not just because she chose me. Well, that part matters too.
I was five when she and Dad adopted me, a scared little girl with a too-big backpack and trust issues that ran bone-deep.
A little girl standing outside a house | Source: Midjourney
They already had Mark, their biological son, who was eight and blessed with Mom’s dimples and Dad’s confident smile.
“This is your sister,” Mom had told him, her hand warm on my shoulder.
“And this is your forever home,” she’d whispered to me later that night when I couldn’t sleep.
Those weren’t just words. She lived them. Every single day.
Dad was wonderful too. He was patient and kind and taught me to ride a bike.
A man helping his daughter ride a bike | Source: Pexels
But when he passed away from a heart attack eight years after I came home, it was Mom who became my entire world. She showed up to every dance recital with flowers, stayed up late helping with science projects, and held me through my first heartbreak at 16.
“Blood doesn’t make a family,” she would say whenever anyone made thoughtless comments about adoption. “Love does.”
A woman holding her mother’s hands | Source: Pexels
We were inseparable, especially after I graduated college.
I took a job at a design firm just 20 minutes from her house because I couldn’t imagine being far away. Weekend brunches, impromptu movie nights, holiday traditions… we did it all together.
Then the diagnosis came. Ovarian cancer, stage three.
“We’ll fight this,” I promised her in the sterile hospital room where the doctor had delivered the news, his eyes already carrying a resignation that terrified me.
A doctor | Source: Pexels
For two years, that’s exactly what we did.
Two years of chemo, of doctors who never made eye contact, of late-night ER visits and pain that stole her voice, piece by piece.
And through all of that? I was there. Every. Single. Day.
I moved into her house. Cooked every bland meal that wouldn’t make her sick. Helped her bathe when her body failed her. Sat beside her in the hospice while her hands trembled in mine.
A woman holding her mother’s hand | Source: Pexels
And Mark? He only visited twice.
Once for her birthday, bringing an expensive bouquet that made Mom smile despite the pain medication making her drowsy.
Once for five minutes after she was moved to the hospice. Just long enough to say, “I can’t handle seeing her like this” and leave.
He lived three hours away in Chicago. Had a successful career in finance. A beautiful wife. Two kids Mom barely knew.
But that’s not why he didn’t show up. It’s because he didn’t want to.
A close-up shot of a man’s face | Source: Midjourney
And still, I never held that against him. Mom didn’t either.
“Everyone grieves differently,” she would say on nights when disappointment made her eyes shine with unshed tears after he canceled yet another visit. “Mark just needs time.”
But time was the one thing she didn’t have.
The morning of the funeral dawned cold and clear. It was the kind of beautiful autumn day Mom would have loved.
A coffin | Source: Pexels
I stood in front of the mirror in her bathroom, smoothing down the navy blue dress she’d helped me pick out months before.
“This one,” she’d said. “You look so beautiful in this one, honey.”
The memory made my throat tighten. I tucked the folded pages of my speech into my purse, the paper worn soft from how many times I’d revised it.
It wasn’t just a eulogy. It was a goodbye. A thank-you. A love letter to the woman who chose me, who taught me what family really means.
A handwritten note | Source: Midjourney
“Emily? The cars are here.” My aunt Susan knocked gently on the bedroom door. “Are you ready, sweetheart?”
No. I would never be ready. But I nodded anyway.
The church was already filling when we arrived. Mom had been loved by so many people, including her book club friends, neighbors, former colleagues from the elementary school where she’d taught second grade for 30 years.
I greeted them in a fog, accepting hugs and condolences that blurred together.
I spotted Mark near the front, standing with his wife Jennifer and their children.
A man standing in a church | Source: Midjourney
He looked like he’d aged years in the weeks since Mom died. We hadn’t spoken much during the arrangements. He’d delegated most decisions to me with brief, perfunctory texts.
“Emily.” He nodded when I approached. “The, uh, the flowers look nice.”
“Mom loved lilies,” I said softly. “Remember how she always planted them along the front walk?”
White lilies in a garden | Source: Pexels
He looked away, uncomfortable with the shared memory. “Yeah.”
Pastor Wilson was preparing to begin the service when Mark suddenly pulled me aside near the church steps, away from the gathering mourners.
“Hey,” he said, voice tight, “You should sit this one out.”
I blinked, not understanding what he meant. “What?”
He glanced around like he didn’t want anyone to hear, and then said the words I wasn’t ready for.
“No one wants to hear from the adopted one. The speech should come from real family.”
A man looking at his sister | Source: Midjourney
Adopted.
I felt the blood drain from my face. The church, the people, everything around me seemed to fade away as his words echoed in my head.
He’d never said that word before. Not even when we were kids fighting over toys or the front seat of the car. Mom and Dad had never allowed any distinction between us.
We were both their children. Period.
I opened my mouth to respond, to remind him of all the nights I’d spent holding Mom’s hand while he was absent. All the doctors’ appointments I’d driven her to. All the medications I’d carefully organized in daily pill cases.
Pills in a pill organizer | Source: Pexels
But then I saw his clenched jaw. The way he’d already decided. The grief that was making him cruel.
So, I nodded.
“Fine,” I whispered. “Whatever you want, Mark.”
***
He gave his eulogy. It was fine. Generic. A few stories from childhood and some lines about “how much Mom meant to all of us.
People clapped politely when he finished.
A man giving a speech | Source: Midjourney
I sat in the front pew, tears streaming silently down my face. The speech I’d written burned a hole in my purse. All those words I’d carefully chosen to honor her were now silenced.
As Mark stepped down from the podium, one of the hospice volunteers, Grace, walked over and handed him an envelope.
“Your mother wanted you to have this,” she said, loud enough for the front rows to hear.
Mark looked confused but took the envelope.
A sealed envelope | Source: Pexels
He opened it at the podium, unfolding a sheet of pale blue paper that Mom always saved for important letters.
I watched his hands tremble as he read the contents. He cleared his throat once. Then twice.
Then, he began to read aloud.
“To my children, Mark and Emily. Yes, both of you. Blood makes children related. Love makes you mine.”
A sob caught in my throat.
“Mark, you were my first. My wild child. The one who never stopped running. Emily, you were my answered prayer. The soul who chose to come to me in a different way, but just as deeply.”
A woman putting a note in an envelope | Source: Pexels
The church was completely silent now.
“Emily, I hope you kept the words I helped you write. Because they’re my last ones, too.”
Mark looked up from the letter, his face transformed by shame and grief. His eyes found mine across the sanctuary.
“Please,” he said, his voice breaking. “Come up here. I’m sorry.”
I stood on shaky legs, aware of every eye in the church following me as I walked to the front.
A woman walking in a church | Source: Midjourney
My hands trembled as I unfolded my speech.
Mom had helped me draft it during those quiet hours between pain medication doses, when her mind was clear and we talked about everything and nothing.
I took a deep breath and began to read the words we wrote together.
I told them about her courage. Her kindness. The way she could make anyone feel like the most important person in the room. How she taught second graders to read for three decades and still got Christmas cards from students now in their 40s.
And how she made the best apple pie in three counties, but would never share her secret ingredient.
An older woman smiling | Source: Midjourney
And I told them what she taught me about family.
That it’s built by choice, by love, and by showing up day after day.
When I finished, the church was filled with both tears and smiles. That was exactly what Mom would have wanted.
Afterward, people lined up to hug me. To tell me how beautiful it was. How Mom would’ve been proud. Her book club friends sharing stories I hadn’t heard before. Her fellow teachers reminiscing about staff room pranks and school trips.
Mark pulled me aside before I left the reception.
A man talking to his sister | Source: Midjourney
“I was wrong,” he said, looking directly at me for perhaps the first time in years. “About everything.”
I nodded. “I know.”
We stood there, in silence. Not the kind that erases you. The kind that makes space for healing.
“You know what, Mark… She loved you so much,” I finally said. “She never stopped hoping you’d come around.”
His eyes filled with tears. “I… I should’ve been there for her. I wasted so much time.”
A man looking down | Source: Midjourney
“Then don’t waste any more,” I told him, thinking of Mom’s most frequent advice. It’s never too late to start over.
And I realized something as we walked back into the reception together. I didn’t need the podium to prove I was her daughter. She’d already said it herself. Louder than anyone else ever could.
Leave a Reply