The Floor is Clean...Sort of...

Been going through a lot of family stuff lately. As I wrote that I wondered if they (my family of origin) also think we are going through "family stuff" or if they are oblivious to it all. I'm not sure of what they may be thinking, but I know beyond a doubt, I am going through FAMILY STUFF.

I spoke with my sister tonight; she is getting married in less than two weeks. In itself this is not odd, but the fact that she announced the engagement little more than a week ago puts a different light on the situation. Every time I speak with her lately I end up feeling jittery and pacing, and the cure is to do housework. Argh...

Friday evening, I vacuumed the whole house. Tonight I tackled the kitchen and dining room floors. At one point they were white and over time, well, since Christmas, they have faded to grey. On Monday the Sears repairman installed a new part in the dishwasher (thank you God!) and he left his boots on, and it was rainy out. After he left I peered at the floor in front of the dishwasher and that was when I realized that the entire floor was the same color as the grit he had left behind. Time to clean it, I guess. After talking with the sister on the phone this evening, I needed to do something, so I got out the mop thingy and some spray stuff and polish. I like the smell of floor polish. I don't smell it often. Whaddya mean Uncle Johnnie's not coming to the wedding and now I have to drive 5 hours each way with Uncle Roger who is extremely hard of hearing and thinks I am too? Are you kidding me?

I got down on my hands and knees and sprayed and scrubbed and sprayed, and then mopped up the excess wet stuff, all the while the conversation with said sister ricocheting through my mind. Yup, it was starting to look white again. After I washed and rinsed the whole floor and let it dry, I brandished the bottle of polish enthusiastically, feeling pretty good about my accomplishment. Whaddya mean you want me to have Cheesecake because it's your wedding and after all, it's just cheese. Are you kidding me?

Back on my hands and knees I liberally souse the floor with polish...mmmmmm...smell that. I smile and start...well, polishing. As I move backward across the kitchen floor, away from the corner and toward the door, cuz I'm not stupid, ya know, I keep having to lift my knees from the floor in order to move them...they are sticking to the floor. First I scrub a spot, then separate the knees, then drag them backward, causing my toes to drag across the floor. Scrub, scrub, peel, peel, drag, drag...and so it goes. After a short bit I notice circular blobs of blue on the floor, and just beyond this long lines of red. What the heck...? Whaddya mean my twenty year old daughter is invited to your staggette party, but I'm not? Are you kidding me? Oh man, the circular blobs are from my jeans sticking to the floor. I can't figure out what the red stripes are...oh wait...that's Sally Hansen "Hard as Nails" Crimson Red. Shoot.

Now I do scrub, scrub, peel, peel, wipe, wipe, and point the toes as I drag, drag. I manage to get the whole kitchen and dining room done in this fashion, trying to ignore the cramping in my feet. I am getting bored however and rather than moving the laptop bag, I polish around it. In retrospect this was a poor idea as tomorrow when I lift the bag to take it to work, that spot will be dull. Whaddya mean you want me to wear light purple in your wedding...do you mean Easter egg light purple? Are you kidding me?

I wait upstairs patiently for the floor to dry so that I can put the chairs back. I tested the floor and it seemed fine so I stood a moment, surveying my nice clean floor and the fruits of my labour with satisfaction. Stood a moment too long, I will wager, as when I started walking I ripped a layer of skin off the bottom of both feet. I screamed in agony and expected the husband to come to my rescue, but, too late, I hear the faint hammering of Groundhog on the banjo. I could die 5 feet away and he would not know. Whaddya mean you want me to find the knife and cake server that I used at my wedding 25 years ago. Are you kidding me?

I limp back upstairs to wash the dried on polish off my hands, and to find something to put on my feet. I notice that the knees of my jeans are shiny. I have to go through the kitchen to get to the laundry room, so hopefully the polish will wash out later. I'm tired now, and feeling fairly good about my clean floor and hoping the pain will pass soon. Tomorrow evening, after I speak with her, I will clean the bathrooms. And no, I will not be eating the Cheesecake, one day at a time. And I'm not kidding!!