The Mundane - Scrubbing the Floor

My days are consumed with:

unpacking,

organizing,

reorganizing,

moving things from one place to another, 

 trying to find out where an item fits best.

Adding to the stress of moving things around,

unpacking,

rearranging, 

I've thrown in the Christmas boxes

that now 

sit

lined up in dining room

where the other boxes 

all used to

sit.

The Christmas tree is up.

It is naked, except for the lights.

It is a pre-lit tree.

Every piece of furniture needs to be

dusted.

The carpets need to be

vacuumed.

The wood floors need to be 

swept

and

mopped.

It is the laundry room that is catching my attention today.

The laundry room is

the entryway from the garage,

the place where the dog is 

fed, 

and where he messily

laps up

 bowls of water.

The laundry room is

the place where the dog is 

kenneled

when we are not at home.

The laundry room is Boston's room.

The floor is

covered 

with dog hair.

It is

muddy and dusty.

No matter how much I feel 

compelled 

to unpack 

boxes

or 

to decorate

the Christmas tree,

I am more 

compelled 

to scrub 

the laundry room floor.

And so, I 

sweep up

the dog hair that covers the floor.

I then find some floor cleaner, and a rag.

I get on my hands and knees and begin to scrub the dirty floor.

Then, I

remember 

 Julie.

Julie was not yet two years old

 in the memory I have of her as I 

scrub

the floor on my hands and knees.

On that day, now 36 years ago

I was also 

scrubbing

the floor on my hands and knees

Christmas had just come and gone, and

the other children were back in school.

I was very, very

 pregnant

 with my last child, my fifth. 

Jonathan was born on the last day of January that year.

As a mother of four children under the age of ten,

pregnant,

with another soon to be born,

I was

very tired,

but the huge kitchen floor was very dirty.

On my hands and knees, I

scrubbed,

and worked 

my way around the room, 

getting every corner sparkling clean in preparation for the birth that was imminent.

Finally, 

the task of cleaning accomplished,

I headed downstairs to do a load of laundry while the floor dried.

Julie,

while I was downstairs,

went into the newly scrubbed kitchen.

I remember thinking she was way too quiet upstairs.

That was never a good sign.

When I came up the stairs,

my arms full of clean, neatly folded towels and sheets,

I heard pots and pans banging together.

I went to other side of the kitchen island to investigate.

There was

Julie.

She had been very busy.

She had taken all the canned goods out of the lazy Susan and put them on the newly cleaned floor.

She had then taken out all of the pots and pans and placed them by the canned goods.

She had then taken eggs and broken them over the cans of food, and the pots and pans.

My floor was a mess.

Julie was happily playing house.

I wanted to cry.

Today, I 

cried,

as I 

remembered 

that long ago day when I had gotten down on my hands and knees

 to scrub

the kitchen floor.

It was a mundane chore then.

It is still a mundane chore.

It is also a chore filled with treasured memories 

of a tiny,

curly haired,

little imp,

my little pixie,

always so busy,

always so inquisitive,

always so creative,

whom had made a mess on newly cleaned floor so many years ago.

I may have been exhausted,

I may have been overwhelmed,

but those feelings are forgotten.

I remember 

Julie

 while I

scrub

the floor.

Today, the mundane task of 

scrubbing

the floor brought back golden memories. 

I miss you Julie.

I love you.

Love,

Mom

XO