In college we had white tile floors. Everywhere. Globs of lint and hair and whatever else, which we affectionately called 'dust bunnies' would make their way into our room and live in the corners until we would sweep. We were supposed to sweep every day. At any moment, we were to be ready for a room inspection and that meant a swept floor. I probably swept once a month. Thank goodness I had roommates that would carry that burden for me...we weren't allowed a rug in our room.
In each home I have lived in, I have begrudgingly swept our floors. Thankfully, in the first home my husband and I lived in together we had a mostly carpeted floor plan and the vacuum and I get along just fine. I love that invention. I even bring it into the kitchen and suck up the piles these days...much better than under the rug. When we moved back to Virginia Beach I just accepted the fact that I was going to have to sweep a lot more. Uhhhhh. I love the beach, but sand gets EVERYWHERE! There was another problem with this new home. Whoever installed the floors in the kitchen area hated mothers. Let me explain. From our kitchen you can exit out the back door onto the concrete patio or you can come into the home through the garage. I assume that the selector of the flooring thought, "I will make sure anyone who hates to sweep the floor will be able to see the dirt that their children and pets track in constantly by installing these bright white ceramic floors. They don't even look clean when they are freshly mopped! wahahahahahaha!"
Ok, so maybe they actually thought more along the lines of, "White will make things look brighter. Let's do that." But, after living with these floors for almost a year, I tend to lean towards the aforementioned theory.
We sweep constantly. We have a rug by the back door and the garage door that my kids have become well trained that their shoes stop there however, the dirt finds its way everywhere. EVERYWHERE! I now only sweep either right before bed or first thing in the morning because mid-day sweeps are pointless. I *might* sweep before someone comes over to our house but if they are bringing more than one child with them, fa-getaboutit.
This morning I did my sweeping. You can see, these aren't a small pile of beans, but a mountain of dirt each day:
But something was different today as I swept; I was thankful. I am so thankful that my children love to play outside. I love that they want to play in the dirt, bring me picked flowers, show me cool bugs or worms that they find and in their excitement they don't have time to stop at the door and take off their shoes...they have to run right to Mommy and show her. I am so thankful that they get to make fun crafts like play-doh at church and then play with them at our kitchen table, leaving little bits of pink dough everywhere in their wake. I am thankful for the food that we can afford to fall on the ground. I am thankful for a husband who helps me sweep. I am thankful that every day I get to do this all over again because I know before too long the kids with grow, our old pup will pass and it will just be Isaac and I tracking little to no dirt into the house. I know that this dirt represents the life that is in our home and I am thankful that I get to see the side effects of a day well lived.
I am thankful that we live each day.
I still hate sweeping, but I will do it with a thankful heart from now on.
