Elementary intimidation

I am admittedly not the world's best homekeeper, nor am I the worst. Despite my dreams of complete minimalist and sanitary perfection, I am what I refer to as a home-lifestyle-realist.

I clean my bathrooms and vacuum the carpet, wash the mirrors (way too often), sweep my entry, wash the refrigerator shelves, and have "places" for things in the junk drawer. I have fabric ties on the display towels in my bathroom and beautiful crystal vases for home grown blooms. But I hate to scrub the floor. More than any other household task I really dislike floors, and it shows. The poor, neglected, floors.

Truly, I think I've developed an immunity to noticing them. I mean, they look nice so rarely; fifteen minutes on a good day right after they are scrubbed. Rose colored glasses have become necessary for survival. Only, instead of rose colored, I think they are becomming black. I simply see nothing - noticing the spilled cereal only once it crunches beneath the bare flesh of my feet.

I'm not sure when this transition began, but it was brought abruptly to my attention the other day when A's little friend came over and, with shouts of accolades and congratulations, announced that "hey! it's cleaner in here!" Immediately my defenses started to rise and my mind was filled with

"I know your home is nicer but you're in a whole house and we have one big room for all our activities and a couple bedrooms. We eat, use the computer, watch movies, cook, do homework, make crafts, paint, play games, and refinish furniture all in the same room. Our house would be tidier if I had a garage or coat closet or even a linen closet all to ourselves. Then you would be spared the monstrosity that is my living room on a day when I allow my child, and you - her dear companion, to frolic in the sweet innocences and revel in the joyous frivolity of youth. My kitchen would be nicer if I didn't just spend an hour making cupcakes and icing from scratch to give you sweet delectibles or dump out storage bins so you could fill them all with water and splash innocently in the timeless thrills of summer. If I stopped reading you stories and climbing on the floor with you. Yes, dear one, we could have a perfect home if you wish, but it is partly in the happiness of you for which I have sacrificed this most blessed fantasy."

To which I realized, why do I need to justify myself to a 6 year old? So I turned off the lights, played a hiding game, and forgot about the floor. Again.