Scrubbing

I scrubbed the bathroom floor yesterday. Not that it was a big job but one that had to be done never the less. Our bathroom is where the old pantry used to be hence the size. So it has room enough to fit a bathtub, sink and toilet. The bathroom is small enough you can multi task without any effort. But that is not the point.

While I was on my hands and knees with a knife attacking all the corners and the dead dust bunnies glues to the corners, I recalled sitting at a desk, answering phones, monitoring shipments and orders for the plant that I worked for. It wasn't that I didn't enjoy some aspects of the job but it wasn't what I wanted. Believe it or not, I got more satisfaction from my sparkling (okay maybe not sparking but mildly shiny) clean floor than I ever did from that job. Or from any job now that I think of it. (Except being a Mom but that goes without saying.)

The money was good. But at what expense? My daughter, my family and my relationships. I slowly figured it out that that the money was not worth it. I never wanted to be a working mother. I never wanted to be a working wife. My mother was an at home mother and I very much admire her for her choice. Before I continue I will explain something about my family, especially on my Mother's side.

The women left a legacy of not really giving a damn about what society set as the rules for women. For example, my grandmother was one of the few married school teachers of her day. She taught while she was a wife and mother as well. Her sisters, also were not lumped in with the generalization of the day. One wrote text books and another was a Professor of Education. On my mother's side, her grandmother was a single mother with nine children. She drove the mail and put the last spike in a provincial railway line.

My own mother stayed home when working outside of the house was the thing to do. Now no offense to the feminists out there, but I do ask the question who is the stronger the ones who swim with the tide or the ones who decide to against it. Personally I like it when a man treats me as a lady and holds the door open for me. I like to be called Mrs. Men and woman are different. Science has proven that but so what. It is my choice not to be a feminist because I do not feel the need to go out and prove something. I believe in equality for all despite the differences. I took a composition course for writing once. I could not believe how this turned into a male bashing session for the two hours I was there twice a week. I paid money for this?

I digress. I will save this for another rant another day. My point was I had felt more satisfaction in that clean floor than I ever had for any other task I had been paid to do. That felt so good. So good in fact I turned my attentions to the kitchen. Hubby came home took one look at the bathroom, kitchen and washer ('cause that got scrubbed too) He checked my temperature.

Here's the scary thing. I got right into cleaning out all the grubby hard to get spots. Its like I became obsessed with removing all the grime and dirt. It became addictive. One spot led to another and then to another My vision tunneled and all I could think about was how was I going to clean the next spot and hoping nobody called to break my stride. The more I cleaned the better I felt but the more my hands protested. My eczema really started to complain. So I think today I'll just do the regular stuff and ignore the rest.

But there is the fridge....