I wanted the house to be spic and span by the time The Retired Husband (TRH) returns home from sunny Queensland. It’s imminent.
So much to do. So little time….
I could only blame myself for that. I had been distracted by the lure of splashing paint here, there and everywhere.
I wanted to stage it over a few days so as not to overly exert myself. Or dampen the motivation to extinction. I tread a fine line in that department sometimes.
Vacuuming first –
So far it was going really, really well. I was happy. Proud even.
Next – mopping. In hindsight this is where it all began to unravel. Not just unravel. Go horribly, terribly wrong.
I had a new cleaning spray. Having used it on kitchen benches and the like with stunning results, I was going to use it on the floors as well. They would be like new by the time I finished. Micro fibre mop in one hand and spray bottle in the other, I mopped the bedrooms and bathrooms. Great.
Next – kitchen and dining room. Done. Lights out and off to bed.
OMG! This was not my nice, shiny, clean floor. Was I in the wrong house? Was I having a nightmare? What the hell had happened overnight?
What horrid creature had snuck into my home while I lay in sweet repose oblivious to the havoc that had been wrought on my floors?
It was dull. It was streaky. It was gritty. It was splotchy. It was – WAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!!!!
I consulted with my friend, the cleaning guru and font of all knowledge and wisdom when it comes to cleaning. I mean to say, she knows people who vacuum their driveways! Can you believe that? And clean the grooves in their fences with a toothbrush…
She commiserated. She soothed my rattled nerves. Perhaps it was something in the spray. My floor did not like it. And it let me know in no uncertain terms. I had noticed a few patches of shiny floor underneath the wretched streaks. Like a lighthouse beacon it beckoned. There was hope. We hatched a plan of attack.
I tackled the job anew, heart in throat. Would it work or had I ruined the floor forever? It was bedtime. But I could not retire without tackling the floor. Steam mop first followed by a dry microfibre mop. It was beginning to look more like itself I thought. I would have to wait till morning to really see the result.
At this stage I took my courage by the hand and went to check the other floors which had also been assaulted by the Devil Spray. They were obviously made of sturdier stuff and had withstood the attack. Whew…
It was a restless night of sleep. My emotional state was fragile swinging from hope to utter despair.
The next morning, with dry throat and fear in my heart I tentatively sneaked into the kitchen/dining room and switched on the light. It was definitely an improvement. But not back to its former glory yet.
This time, I used double strength of my old and trusty cleaning spray. Chiding myself sternly for not having done this from the beginning, I re-did the floor. Board by board. Tediously. A scrubbing cloth under one foot, and a dry microfibre mop in hand I spent today recleaning the floor that had already been cleaned three times. Or was it four? I could have used an extra pair of hands.
My cleaning schedule has flown out the window. My shattered soul is somewhat soothed. The kitchen floor is not quite right – yet. But it will be. At least that is what I tell myself. Sadly, I know I am wide awake. ‘Tis true, this tale.
© Raili Tanska
Steps for Peace
Try and try again…