Today we had a lady come and clean our house. Her method for mopping floors was rather interesting. She took a wash cloth and wet it (I don’t think she used floor cleaner), got down on her hands and knees and ‘mopped’ my floors. We’re talking the entire house here. It’s all ‘parquet’ or tile.
This evening Samantha, desperately trying to avert the inevitable bed time battle, rocked up with a tea towel and a cup of water and announced, “I’m going to clean the floors, Mummy. I makes them happy, so I’m going to clean them.” And she proceeded to scrub the hall and her bedroom floor. “The floor is so happy now,” she said very seriously.
So I played along, “Oh yes, the floor feels nice and clean now. I can tell it’s very happy.”
“Mummy, it’s your turn now. Help me make the floor happy.”
This time we scrubbed the dining room floor – a good thing, as it had remnants of Timothy’s dinner all over it.
“The floor is so happy, because we’re cleaning it. We’re helping it together. Oh wow, look at all that water! It’s so happy!”
Then she walked over to the fridge and said, “Oh, I’m so thirsty. I need some water. We worked so hard. We’re so happy now.”
Hmm, maybe I don’t need to hire a cleaner anymore. I’ll just have Samantha do my dishes and floors.
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