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Green World Home Cleaning Reviews from Real Customers
The Sarasota Savior I Never Knew I Needed
I always thought I could handle it all. Like, obviously. I grew up here—survived Sarasota summers where the air feels like wet laundry (ugh), dodged tourists on St. Armands Circle like it was my job, even managed to parallel park downtown during season (miracle). But then? Baby arrived. And suddenly? My tiny bungalow near Gillespie Park became a war zone of onesies, burp cloths, and… wait, is that banana smeared on the baseboard?!
(How. HOW does it get there.)
I mean, I tried. Swear to god. But between midnight feedings and trying to remember if I’d eaten anything besides Goldfish crackers for three days straight, cleaning became this… mythical thing other people did. Like, oh yeah, floors are supposed to be visible. My partner was drowning too—bless him, but his idea of “helping” was stacking dishes into Jenga towers that’d topple if you breathed wrong. And don’t even get me started on the laundry. (Spoiler: It’s still in the basket. It’s always in the basket.)
One day, I was googling “how to sleep when baby sleeps” (lol) and stumbled on a house cleaning cost calculator. Out of curiosity—pure curiosity—I plugged in our square footage. And… huh. Less than I’d spent on DoorDash last month. (Which, okay, was a lot, but still.)
So I did it. Booked a cleaning service. And when they showed up? Angels. Actual angels.
(Well, okay, not literally. But close.)
The smell alone—like lemons and sanity—almost made me cry. I could breathe again. No more sticky countertops, no more mysterious crumbs under the couch (RIP, Cheerio graveyard), no more panicking when my mom texted “stopping by!” (Because yes, Mom, I do live like a civilized human, thank you very much.)
And the details—like, they folded the blanket my aunt crocheted (which had been balled up on the chair since… July?) and lined up my haphazard shoe pile by the door. It was magic.
Partner: “Babe, did you… clean?”
Me: laughs maniacally “No. They did.”
Partner: “…Can we keep them?”
(We couldn’t. But we could book them again. And again.)
Look, Sarasota mamas—or anyone drowning in the chaos of life—get the help. Worth every penny. Especially when “penny” means less than that bougie avocado toast at Perq Coffee Bar. (Which, no regrets, but still.)
Now? I’m sitting here, baby finally napping (please god let it last), staring at my actually clean ceiling fan. No dust bunnies plotting their takeover. Just… peace. And maybe, just maybe, a nap of my own.
That banana on the baseboard? Gone. But the memory? Oh, it’s staying—as a reminder that sometimes, the best thing you can do is wave the white flag (or the disinfectant wipe) and call in the cavalry.
— Jules Monroe, Sarasota, FL