A letter to my floors.

Dear floors,
Have I told you lately how much I appreciate you? Not only that, but how much I miss you when I can't see you anymore? It's been several weeks now that you've been hiding from us, and I find that to be most unpleasant. I feel like I work hard to keep you clean and unencumbered, but it seems that you disappear from view the minute my children sit down to eat. Or play. Or breathe anywhere in the vicinity of the house.

This morning, with my bare feet crunching on and sticking to a variety of disconcerting though seemingly invisible substances, I finally decided to do something that I've put off for far too long. With loving strokes and perspiring brow, I swept and mopped the kitchen and dining room. With the youngest imprisoned in her high chair, I banished every crumb and glob, and you simply shone with pride from the antibacterial wash you received.

It made my heart glad.

I walked around, and nothing lodged between my toes.

I let my daughter down, and there was nothing for her to find to eat on the ground.

My son insisted on being carried to the couch so that he didn't get his feet wet.

It was fantastic.

And so encouraged, I moved on to vacuum the rugs and the bedroom carpet - and my son helped me, with Dust Buster in hand, while my daughter watched us in horror. That crackling sound of junk going up the vacuum hose has never seemed so lovely.

But now it's naptime, and I'm exhausted, and you must be as well. You don't look as shiny as you did this morning, and I can already tell that you are building up a new layer of protection against my little critters.

But I know you're there. And I look forward to the day when we will meet once again.

With devotion,
Bekah