Unclean... and Resigned To It

I'm not the best housekeeper at the best of times. At the worst, I let my husband do it. I never realized how much he cleaned until he went out of province for work. Wait a minute! The floors never got this dirty before! What's going on?! Oh, yes, that's right.... it was The Man who used to clean them. Oops!

I'm not meant to have clean floors. It's not my destiny or my spiritual karma. I know this, and I still attempt to defy my fate. After weeks of dirty, sticky, sandy floors, I decided I had enough. Maybe it was the Jehovah's Witnesses who ran when I opened the door (ok, not actually), or the redneck neighbours who honk and yell from the driveway but don't want to get out of the car and come inside that did it (yes, actually happened). Maybe it was the peanut butter oil seeping under the couch (see earlier post). Anyways, I sent The Boy to his Nannie's and Got Down To It. I vacuumed and vacuumed, and washed. And then I went over it again and washed the especially dirty spots.

Was I ever impressed with myself! The house was in order. The air smelled fresh. The bottom of my feet didn't resist leaving the hardwood surface: The floor was Smooth and Clean, maybe even Spot-Free. Finally! I mentally patted myself on the back for the next few hours about what a great job I did, about how nice it looked. Then, The Boy came home. He didn't even notice the clean floors, just got right to it: playing. That was fine. I wasn't expecting praise or even acknowledgement.

What I definitely wasn't expecting was to look into the living room and see The Boy with a dishtowel proudly saying "I clean up!" as he mopped his way through a sippy cup of orange juice that he so carefully opened and poured all over the couch and floor.

Sigh. The cushion covers are in the wash, and I'll be walking through sticky spots for the next couple of weeks. Wish me luck.