Christopher returned from school yesterday
and asked why I was cleaning the floors.
Why?
Had it really been THAT long?
I paused to consider the possibility, before explaining that since my initial surgery in October, the floors had not been properly cleaned.
When I say clean, I mean:
swept, mopped and scraped clean of the "unidentifiable, sticky, gray residue" from-the-kitchen-floor kind of clean.
"You know I'm feeling better... if I'm cleaning," I remarked.
Christopher either really appreciates clean floors or what I said because he replied,
"Then I'll help you."
Now if someone could just tell me how to get my ceramic cook top clean.
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