I’ve been sitting on the coach playing pretend with Rachel while Hannah naps. For some reason she’s been calling me “darlin’” when we play house these days. Not darling but “darlin” as in “Oh my darlin’ Clementime.” I don’t use the word darling. Go figure.

We took a break from our game and she asked me what the names of my great-grandmas are. I was born after they died, but I know one my mom’s grandmother’s name was Catherine, so I said Catherine. She asked me if Catherine died and I said yes. Then she started laughing and asked, “Are you just kidding?” These are the kind of wacky turns our convrsations take these days. I can’t quite stay on top of them.

I can’t quite believe it but for a brief moment, my floor is actually clean. Never did I think I could get so frustrated over a floor. It just gets way under my skin. The floor literally can’t stay clean for more than an hour at time. If it isn’t the kids, it’s the dog unlocking the door and coming back in with muddy paws when we’re gone. When I was about three or four years old we lived in an apartment building that we co-owned with a number of other families. There was this great family that lived downstairs with younger kids. I used to love going down there because they were so much fun. Another lure was that the mother was from Columbia and I loved her food. I must have been messy, though, because I remember getting lectures when I was visiting them, about how much food I was getting on the floor. (My kids take after me on this one) A few years back, my sister shared a memory with me. She says that I went down to see this family and the door was partly open. I swung open the door and exclaimed happily, “Hi, Margarita!” and in the process I knocked over this bucket of water that she had by the door. She had just mopped the floor. According to my sister, she was so frustrated she picked me up, spanked me, and firmly placed me outside.

My sister and I laugh at this story because I was just a happy kid saying “Hi!” The truth is, I’m starting to see where Margarita was coming from. I know the feeling of spending 20 minutes getting the floor clean only to have someone’s grubby little fingers grab a bowl off the counter and spill its contents all over the floor. I’m not a neat freak, honest, I just want to be able to walk across the floor without hearing little crunchy sounds underfoot.

What drives you crazy on a daily basis? Something you never thought would when you were younger.