So I've realized lately that the house is in a bit of disarray. Toys -- including a train table -- fill the kitchen. And they have trickled into other parts of the house.
I find myself kicking aside tiny soldiers, cars and plastic Easter eggs from the middle of the dining room. A Geotrax train driver -- we call him "Ghost Train guy" -- hid behind the bathroom door in a bed of cat hair for about three days earlier this week.
A couple days ago after dinner, Dane bent down and picked up something hard and oval-shaped from the floor near the dining room table. I'm pretty sure it had some jagged edges.
"I don't even know what this once was," he said, inspecting it.
I sort of laughed.
The next day, he said: "Do we have a mop?"
I didn't know the answer.
"No," I said but then remembered something hanging in the garage. What was that? A full-blown mop, or merely a crappy Swiffer?
I suggested there might be something in the garage.
I used to clean more, before I had a baby. I used to actually use the Swiffer to clean the floors. It was the kind that came with giant, dripping baby wipes you attached to the rectangular end. I used to push so hard, I bent the metal handle.
Since we've been in Omaha, I've begun just using a dishrag -- on my hands and knees -- to clean the floors. It just seems easier.
The last two months, though, cleaning has been relatively pointless. We are having the basement refinished, and no matter how hard I try, drywall dust finds its way onto everything. Even the cats.
So I've more or less given up.
My mom has a crafty sign in her dining room that says something like, "My house was clean yesterday. Sorry you missed it."
I'm pretty sure she also has some sort of sign that says, "My floors may be dirty, but my kids are happy."
I like both of those.
So here's to never spending another Saturday morning sweeping, vacuuming and dusting! Here's to drinking coffee and playing on the floor with toy soldiers and castles and pirate ships with my 2-year-old in our jammies instead!
At least until the basement's done.
Or at least until I can't stand it anymore.