My floors are dirty. Cheerios, spilled juice, spots of dried milk. One of the reasons we purchased this home was because of the expansive, beautiful hardwood floors. I promised to take care of them, but had no idea what I was getting into. Cleaning the wood floors in our home is a backbreaking two hours of labor and it is impossible to do when two boys are running around and one baby is getting into everything.
I now mop once, sometimes twice, a month. My floors have never looked the way they did the day we moved in to our home. God, these floors were gorgeous. The sun reflected off their waxed surface and there were no scratches to mar their appearance. But now there are scratches and the sun doesn't shine so brightly. They are a bit dull and there is always some debris piling up in the corners.
Occasionally I kick myself for not taking better care of them and get in gear to clean them properly. But then as soon as I am finished two sets of footprints and one set of hand prints and knee trails show up on the freshly mopped surface. I am reminded it isn't so much the floors that matter, but what happens on the floors that counts.
(and sappiness over, thanks for reading)
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