On Floors and Squinkies

                                                     source: pinterest

My ultimate dream in life is to have someone else clean my house. I’m sure this desire isn’t unique to me, and it wasn’t even important to me until I had two small, wonderfully messy and imaginative girls in my life. Now it is at the top of my list. Before they were here, I declared that I enjoyed cleaning. It was ‘therapeutic’ I said. I’m sure I thought this because I only had to sweep the floors once a week and maybe mop once a month. Adults don’t tend to drop cheerios, toast crusts, syrupy waffle pieces, and cups full of milk on the floor during breakfast. J

Because I feed children in my house on average five times a day, I also sweep several times a day. No matter how recently I’ve swept, I will always find Squinkies, jewelry, fairy wings, and beads in the dustpan with all the other crumbs when I’m finished. Sweeping becomes monotonous. On top of that, my dustpan recently broke. It’s particularly annoying to use a piece of paper as a dustpan, which means that I sweep less often. This increases my wish for a house cleaner tenfold, if you know what I mean.

We moved into our new house two weeks ago. I have spent most of that time unpacking and arranging all our stuff. Until this morning, I had yet to clean this new house. It’s always that way with me. We’ve moved enough times that I know what I’ll do. We move in a flurry and unpack for a couple of weeks, but I don’t clean. I think it’s because I don’t feel like it’s my job yet. Because it doesn’t feel like it’s my house yet. 

Today it was time. To clean the house.

I started with the tile floors. I swept up bits and pieces of our day’s meals. While sweeping, I mostly watched the massive amount of dirt, food, and toys accumulating in a pile, but when I started mopping that tile floor stretching to forever, I finally saw my kitchen floor. I settled into a rhythm with my mop brushing back and forth over the brown and gray pattern. I covered every inch of that beautiful tile floor for the first time with my mop, and do you know what? Suddenly, the kitchen floor was mine. By cleaning the floor myself, I felt ownership over it, a connection to it, and care for it.

My new house didn’t feel like my house until I cleaned it. Myself.

So, today, while I sway to the rhythm of the mop and Train, I am the steward of this house. I will clean it. I will care for it. I will love this house into a home.

Would a cleaning lady do that I wonder?

Disclaimer: If you have a house cleaner, I’m really just jealous of you. J