Looking for For Sure Cleaning reviews? We’ve pulled together links to their Google, Facebook and Yelp pages so you can check them all out in one spot. Whether you’re looking for praise or red flags, we’ve made it easy to get the full picture before you book your next cleaning.
For Sure Cleaning Reviews from Real Customers
Good People, No Judge!
I never thought I’d be the kind of person who’d need to Google “house cleaning cost calculator” at 2 a.m., but here we were. My mom’s place in Mānoa had always been cluttered—old copies of The Honolulu Star-Advertiser stacked like geological layers, enough reusable shopping bags to outfit a Foodland for a year—but the last time I visited, I couldn’t even see the lanai. The humid air smelled like mildew and mothballs, and the ceiling fan groaned like it was one loose screw away from giving up.
I grew up in that house. We’d sit on the porch after school, watching the rain roll down the valley while we ate manapua from Libby Manapua Shop. Now, the porch was buried under boxes of QVC purchases still in their packaging—”good deals” she couldn’t pass up. When I tried to gently ask about it, she just waved me off. “Aiyah, don’t worry, I know where everything is.” But she didn’t. Last month, she spent an hour looking for her reading glasses before I found them perched on top of a stack of National Geographics from the ’90s.
It was the broken air conditioner that finally forced my hand. I’d called a repair guy, but when he showed up, he took one look at the narrow paths winding through the living room and said, “Eh, brah, I can’t even get to the unit.” His face did that thing locals do—polite but tired—and I knew. I couldn’t ignore it anymore.
So, I started researching cleaning services. The prices made my eyes water. One estimator asked for square footage, and I almost laughed. How do you calculate space when half of it’s hidden? I punched numbers into a house cleaning cost calculator, but how do you quantify this? The emotional labor of untangling years of “I might need this someday”?
I hired a team recommended by a coworker—”good people, no judge,” she promised. When they arrived, the lead cleaner, a no-nonsense woman, took one look and said, “Okay, we start with the kitchen. That’s the heart.” My mom hovered nearby, her hands fluttering like nervous birds. “I don’t want them throwing away my things,” she muttered. The lead cleaner nodded. “Aunty, we just make it safe, yeah? You tell us what stays.”
The sound of trash bags rustling was weirdly violent. I found myself standing in the driveway, staring at the plumeria tree I’d climbed as a kid. Its branches were thicker now, the flowers just as fragrant. I remembered my dad stringing up a tire swing there before he passed. Mom never took it down—just let the rope fray until it snapped one day.
Inside, the cleaning team worked like surgeons. They didn’t bulldoze; they excavated. One of them uncovered my old kāhili from King Kamehameha Day, buried under a mountain of expired coupons. “Look,” I said to my mom, holding it up. Her eyes got misty. “You made this in fourth grade.” For a second, the weight lifted. Then she whispered, “But where do we put it now?”
By the end of the day, the house breathed again. The lanai was visible, the floorboards creaked underfoot instead of under piles. Mom sat at the cleared dining table, sipping lilikoi tea. “It’s nice,” she admitted, like it was a surprise.
I don’t know if it’ll last. Old habits die hard, especially when they’re wrapped in the fear of forgetting. But that night, I opened the windows and let the Mānoa breeze in—damp and sweet, carrying the scent of wet earth. For the first time in years, I could hear the rain without it sounding like it was crying.
– Kaimana Wong, Honolulu, HI