Well we went from nice and toasty to freezing cold pretty quickly this weekend didn’t we? I must be getting older, cause I’m talking about the weather like Jerry Beck. But I am not too old yet, because I do not record the amount of rainfall. I’m still one of those young irresponsible children who have to call someone older and wiser to ask how much rain we got. When I start keeping up with that, that’s how I’ll really know I’m old. No offense to any of you rain documenters.
I’m just too busy chasing my children, who must source their energy from a greater power than me, because I can’t keep up. I was just pondering about how many times I sweep and mop our house every day and week, and how slim of a timeframe it is actually clean enough to walk around barefoot on the wood floors comfortably (if you don’t like dirt sticking to your feet). I find myself with a broom and mop in my hand endlessly.
We have been working on our fishing pond lately, and it’s a lot of fun, but it seems like the more fun we have, the more dirt we have inside our house. When we have a half dozen cousins running in and out all day long we have a day jam packed full of fun, but after a short while, it begins looking like there’s quite a dust/mud storm that blew through. I suppose I should be grateful for all of the little feet that make my floor so constantly dirty.
Above my kitchen sink I have a cross with a plate on it that says “Thank God for these dirty dishes for we have had so much to eat.” I always thought that was a bright way of looking at things. I suppose I should apply that glass-half-full attitude to my floors too.
Thank God for this dirty, muddy floor, for we have so many happy, muddy little feet that grace my floors!