Clean House

I grew up in a clean house. When I say clean, I mean clean. Spotless floors. Dishes washed, dried and put away immediately. Laundry washed, folded and put away before I even had a chance to wake up. My mother is militant about organization. Of course I am the exact opposite of her. I can't keep any space clean and organized for longer than I step into the room and put something down. I have absolutely zero sense of order. 
My mother used to prophecy that I would move out into my own house and I would learn how to clean. At the time I thought it was a curse, now I see it as a blessing. If only I knew how to keep a clean house like my mother! 
When I became pregnant my husband and I agreed to hire cleaning people every other week. I couldn't get up from the couch for the first four months of my pregnancy, there was no way I was going to be able to clean anything. Every other week the cleaning people would come over, move the same piles of paper around the dining room table, pick up my messy piles and make my home look beautiful. Within 24 hours the house looked like nothing every happened. Same messes, same house. 
Now I have a Destructo Sadie running around my palace of leisure. Between the two of us we can destroy the order in every room within hours. 
It's a frustrating pattern. Cleaning people attack my house every Friday and Sadie spends the weekend undoing their labor. Logan and I definitely help her but she is unmatched in ferocity and focus.  
I struggle with accepting this reality. Sadie makes messes, I run around cleaning them up, Sadie runs around after me remaking the messes. This is completely serious. For instance, I will fold a bunch of towels and put them into the drawer. As I begin to clean the floor Sadie will go into the drawer of towels and throw them all over the house. Then she will take something and spill it on the floor. She follows me around the house undoing anything I do. It's enough to make me lose my temper. 
I, who hates to clean, is forced to continually clean throughout the day and have nothing to show for it by the time Logan comes home from work. My husband does not demand a clean house when he barely makes it through the front door after 13 hours of work and a night full of work ahead of him. Other than a warm meal he voices little concern for the state of our home. However, I know he prefers the house to be clean and orderly even though he never says anything. Every evening I run around trying to make our home look approachable and inviting for my tired husband. 
For now I'm accepting (or forcing myself to accept) that my house will not be perfect. 

Even if my mother likes to tell me again and again how amazing she is for keeping a perfect house.