I've often wondered just what I could have achieved in my life were it not for all of the hours of house-cleaning I feel compelled to do. Interestingly, I logged in way more cleaning hours pre-kids than post-kids. Now, when I look at the condition of my house, with Hannah Montana dolls, Polly Pockets, the guts of backpacks, game pieces, and cheap, plastic party favor toys, I literally become paralyzed. I have absolutely no idea where to start. I cannot vaccum the floor, as I cannot FIND the floor. There seems to be a neverending display of newly created artworks in the process of drying on the kitchen counter or the dining room table. Again, can't clean the table or the counter because they're one big art canvass. I become scared each time I find the courage to open my kids' closets. You'd think they were ex-concentration camp victims who would hoard and hide any available sustenance they receive since they couldn't be certain when they'd eat next. I've found yogurt, Gogurt, cereal, old milk, candy, cookies, bagels, and Nutra Grain bars in those closets. It's a wonder I can find them amidst all of the toys and clothes buried in there. I freeze. I have no idea what to do next. Often, I triage the house and do what I can to remove the disgusting status of my abode. That usually involves the closets and bathrooms. If I'm not totally whipped (and repulsed) after this unsavory process, I bring out the huge yard rake. I start raking the floor to gather all the toys into a lawn and leaf bag and purge as much debris as possible. I throw them away AFTER my kids have gone to bed, you don't want to get busted throwing out any one-armed Barbies, after all. I throw the bulging bag out into the play room and call myself done for the day. This is generally the end of the house-cleaning for me, I can't seem to proceed to the down and dirty cleaning. I don't have enough time, I've had 5 knee surgeries and I have a bad back. I'm literally in agony when I'm forced to deep clean. I'm usually limping around at my dinner parties or our Bunko group. Cleaning would be obsolete if I were Frances Gabe...

With over 68 inventions in her Newberg, Oregon 30-by-45 foot house, Frances Gabe hasn't had to clean in years. She built the entire house herself out of cinderblock and discarded materials. We've all heard of self-cleaning ovens and built-in vacuum systems, but this inventor has created the ultimate dream house for many. "I want to eliminate all unnecessary motion so that handicapped and elderly people can care for their homes themselves," she explains. "My system will allow people to do so by pushing a few buttons."

After 40 years of work, she needs only to press a button and her home is transformed into a sophisticated car wash. The walls ceilings and floor are all covered with resin to make these surfaces water-proof. The maple floors have 10 coats of varnish to protect them. Her windows are tinted making drapes unnecessary. Each room has a 10 inch square four-nozzle swivelling sprinker in the center of the celing that cleans, dries, heats, then cools each room and its contents. She pushes a button (one for each room) and a powerful soapy spray of water washes dust and dirt from the walls, windows, and floors. The apparatus then goes into the rinse cycle, followed by a powerful blow-dry. The floors in the rooms are slanted slighly so water runs off to all corners and falls into a well-concealed drain. The process takes less than one hour per room.

Water is, of course, her nemesis. So, all of her books, art, bedding, and other vulnerable furnishings are covered in plastic sleeves. Her furniture is all covered in a plastic upholstery she made. Other valuable items are stored under glass, like documents and keep-safes. Her dining room table is covered in semi-precious stones set in the water-repelling resin.

She doesn't have a dishwasher, at least not the dishwasher you or I would imagine. She decided loading and unloading dishes is a huge waste of time and effort, so her cupboard does the washing and cleaning itself. Just put the dirty dishes in the cabinets, push a button and they're clean and ready when you need them next.

Her clothes are all washed inside her closet. You just put them on the hangers, they're laundered and simply left to drip dry on the hangers. Hate cleaning your fireplace? Frances hasn't done that in years either. Hers has a back door and the ashes are simply flushed away.

Her toilets, sinks, showers, and baths are are also self-cleaning. They're also equipped with a whirpool-type apparatus that squirts a degreaser, cleans and rinses. Oh, and the bookshelves... yes, they dust themselves as well.

Frances Gabe was born: Frances Grace Arnholtz Bateson. Her inspiration came from years of what she calls "back abuse" and feeling overwhemled by endless housework. At one point, exclaiming: "It's just more than I can handle!", she whipped out the garden hose and started spraying down her house. She spent the next 12 years working on the prototype and improving the concept. Forty years and 68 inventions later, the self-cleaning house was born. She was always somewhat of a forward-thinker, inspired greatly by her father, Frederick Arnholtz, a buidling contrator and engineer.

Entering the Girl’s Polytechnic College in Portland, Oregon when she was 14, she graduated the four year program in a remarkable two years. She's said to have a photographic memory. A professor there once told her she was a female Albert Einstein. She's been honored by MIT as one of America's greatest female inventors.

The self-cleaning house was granted a patent in 1984 from the U.S, government, along with about 30 other patents for her individual cleaning devices. Unfortunately, the patent has expired. She says she's been approached by manufacturers who never seem to follow through. She embraces somewhat of a conspiracy theory as to why. She's certain the vaccum and washing machine makers ultimately stand in her way.

A model of her house was on display at the Women's Museum in Dallas, it was said to be one of the most popular displays. One can tour her house, she asks that you set up a time in advance, however. A sign that says:  ''Please Don't Trample the Poison Oak or Feed the Bull'' is a famous marker.

As I look at my big pile of dirty clothes, my clean dishes yelling to be put away, the ashes overflowing in my fireplace, I can only say I'd take any one of her 68 inventions, thank you very much.