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
