I Have a Confession...

We've lived in our home for eight years and I've never mopped the floors.  EVER!  Come to think of it, I've never mopped any floor.  Ever!  Now don't gross out on me just yet.

You see, the United States Coast Guard equipped my husband with many skills, some more practical than others.  For instance, scarfing down a meal in thirty seconds flat and blowing up a toilet with a single firecracker, not so much.  Rescuing a drowning swimmer and scaling a light pole are skills that could possibly be useful but haven't been thus far.  My Coastie can pack a mean suitcase and tie some serious knots.  However, it's the mopping floors and cleaning bathrooms, that I completely exploit, even though he has a tendency to use way too much bleach (also courtesy of the good ole USCG).

I've posted before how Adam, with his back injury, is not able to do much beyond lie on the couch.  In his absence, Holt has really risen to the occasion in cleaning the kitchen tile.  He continues to do a decent job with his onesie.  What he lacks in thoroughness and effectiveness, he more than makes up for in persistence.

Needless to say, the floors have been haunting me for weeks.  With a family of six, and all but me are boys, the floors probably should have been haunting me for months.  But hey, I'm all about honesty here and it has only been a few weeks.  The slate stares at me with big googly eyes and tauntingly laughs at me.  You know the monster type laugh, "moo hoo ha ha ha".  And increasingly so everytime Holt chased me through the kitchen.

It was well beyond time to tackle the domesticated skill of mopping.  After scooting around the floor, inch by inch, scraping mashed in who-knows-what from all the crevices for nearly an hour, I was ready to mop.  I sought instruction from Mr. Couch Potato and ended up mopping the floor twice.  I could have mopped a third time since the water was still a little brown but I was exhausted!

We left for a late afternoon swim at my parents before I got a good look at the finished product.  By nightfall, I explained to my parents that I was anxious to go home and just stare at my kitchen floor.  Can you tell I was proud of myself?!  So proud that I considered serving breakfast on the floor the next morning, but decided against it.  That would mean mopping it again.  And I'm not looking forward to doing that in the next few months weeks, even though I'm no longer intimidated by the monster.