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Oahu Professionals House Cleaning Reviews from Real Customers
Operation: Clean Sweep
Keiki #3 just smeared peanut butter on the couch. Again. The twins are arguing over who gets to wear the last clean Spider-Man shirt. And somewhere in this house, my toddler has hidden my car keys—his newest favorite game.
Lani comes home from her retreat in six hours.
When she left Friday morning for her weekend with the girls at that fancy resort in Ko Olina, our house was reasonably tidy. Not perfect—with four boys under eight, “perfect” is a fantasy—but decent. Now, after 48 hours of Dad being in charge? It looks like a category 4 hurricane collided with a Toys”R”Us.
“Daddy, Koa is eating Play-Doh again!” Nohea, my oldest, reports from the kitchen.
I rush in to find my two-year-old happily munching on something bright blue. “Buddy, we’ve talked about this,” I sigh, fishing colorful clumps from his mouth. He giggles like I’ve just told the funniest joke in the world.
This was supposed to be easy. My master plan: keep the kids alive, have fun, then clean everything Sunday morning before Lani returns. I even made a schedule. But I forgot the first rule of parenting: no plan survives contact with children.
“Hey gang,” I announce with forced cheerfulness. “Who wants to help clean up for Mommy?”
Silence. Then Nohea, my little diplomat: “Can we have shave ice if we help?”
“Absolutely,” I agree immediately. Bribery is a valid parenting strategy when you’re desperate.
For twenty glorious minutes, we make progress. The twins actually pick up Legos. Koa toddles around with a little broom, mostly sweeping dust into new piles but looking adorable doing it. Then someone mentions that Uncle Kai keeps his PlayStation 5 in the garage, and suddenly I’m alone again, surrounded by chaos.
I check the time. Four hours left.
That’s when I remember seeing a flyer for a cleaning service at the Foodland in Hawaii Kai. I dig through the kitchen junk drawer, finding it under three broken crayons and a Happy Meal toy.
I call immediately.
“How bad is it?” asks the woman who answers. There’s amusement in her voice, like she already knows.
“Four kids, three days, one desperate dad,” I reply.
She laughs. “Say no more. We’ve seen worse. House cleaning cost calculator puts you at our three-hour emergency package. We can be there in forty minutes.”
When they arrive—three ladies armed with enough cleaning supplies to stock a warehouse—I almost hug them.
“Boys, these nice people are going to help us clean for Mommy!” I announce. “Let’s go get shave ice while they work!”
The oldest of the cleaning crew, a grandmotherly woman named Pua, raises an eyebrow. “Retreating already?”
“Strategic withdrawal,” I correct her, as Koa attempts to climb my leg with sticky hands. “We’ll be back in an hour to help with the finishing touches.”
At Shimazu Store, as my boys demolish rainbow-colored mountains of ice, my phone pings with updates from the cleaning team. Before and after photos that seem like actual magic. Somehow, they’ve found the living room floor. And my kitchen counter. And—wait, that’s what our bathroom sink looks like?
We return home with just enough time for the final stage. The cleaning crew has worked miracles, but now comes the personal touch.
“Okay boys, operation ‘Welcome Home Mommy’ is a go,” I say with military seriousness. “Akoni and Keoni, you’re on flower patrol. Pick plumerias from the backyard for vases. Nohea, you’re on card duty. Make the best welcome home card ever. Koa… just try not to touch anything clean.”
We work in a flurry of activity. I throw dinner in the slow cooker—Lani’s favorite kalua pork—and set the table with the “fancy” plates we got as wedding gifts that we never use.
When we hear her car pull up, we scramble into position by the front door. The boys are vibrating with excitement, clutching their handmade cards.
The door opens. Lani stands frozen, taking in the scene—clean house, four boys in relatively clean shirts, the scent of dinner cooking.
“Surprise!” the boys shout, rushing her with hugs.
“What… how…” she stammers, looking around in disbelief.
That’s when Koa, my adorable saboteur, proudly announces: “Daddy got cleaners! I showed them where I hid the keys!”
The twins giggle. Nohea gives me a sympathetic look.
Lani meets my eyes over their heads, her expression shifting from shock to amusement. “You hired cleaners?”
I shrug, busted but not sorry. “I wanted to surprise you with perfection.”
“Honey,” she laughs, setting down her bags to properly hug our little demolition crew, “if I wanted perfection, I wouldn’t have chosen a life with five boys.”
She kisses me over Koa’s head. “But I appreciate the effort. And the clean toilet. Especially the clean toilet.”
Sometimes, the best surprises aren’t about being superhuman. They’re just about showing you cared enough to try.
— Keanu Pālama, Honolulu, Hawaii