the best intentions

Since our home has been an infirmary this week I've struggled even more than usual to keep it sparkling. I use the word "sparkling" loosely. But yesterday morning I rose before the kiddos to wash the kitchen floor on my hands and knees.

It needed it.

Desperately.

But I only got this far before Fritz woke up and vomited.

So the chairs stayed in the great room for the next few hours while we did homework, washed sheets and played Sorry!

The children ate their lunches perched on the kitchen chairs, just not in the kitchen.

Then we dragged 5 chairs back to the table for supper.

When we went to bed last night the floor was still unwashed and the chairs scattered about the house.

But today I actually put soap and water in my purple bucket and scrubbed the floor. On my hands and knees. My mother would be so proud.

Actually, I called my mother and asked if she wanted to come see the freshly scrubbed floor. My mother loves freshly scrubbed floors. She prefers them to freshly mopped floors and freshly swept floors. Needless to say they're seen more regularly at her house than at mine; thus the invitation.

So as I write this the chairs are tucked back in their rightful spots and the children have been warned about spilling anything on the floor.

'Cause let's be honest, it's easier to wash a child than a kitchen floor.