Scrub a dub-dub

Today I realized I didn't want to walk on my own kitchen floor with bare feet. This is never a good sign.
I sweep almost daily and spot clean very frequently, but how often do I get down on my hands and knees and scrub "til it shines like the top of the Chrysler building"? Not often enough- like once a month. (Is that gross? I don't even know.)

Today I moved all the furniture, I swept, VACUUMED THE GROUT AND BASEBOARDS (I know!!), and then proceeded to scrub. It really wasn't that bad until I got to the corner where Faye sits; more food falls on the floor there...I'm not sure why.

I scrubbed in silence, with my own thoughts, my own soundtrack playing in my head. No baby babbling (she was napping), no TV commercials blaring (Brad isn't home yet), just my own little lovely world of silence. The only sound was the "swish swish" of rag against tile.
I don't usually take many  moments to myself nowadays. The world is loud and life is busy. Maybe hands and knees scrubbing isn't exactly glamorous, or fun, our even that productive (I mean, just buy a Swiffer, amiright?) but today it was so therapeutic. I scrubbed away not only soup and dirt, but worry and discouragement. Little things build up and suddenly my feet are crunching Cheerios everywhere I walk; but just by taking a quiet moment and some Mr. Clean, I can have a different outlook. I needed that today, this week, this year. Gentle reminders that life is beautiful, and so are things that have had crap scrubbed off them. My floor is shiney, and so is my heart.

I should scrub more often. I'm sure it will be cheaper then therapy and less damaging to my vanity than tears in the long run, yes?