One thing that Chris and I are still adjusting to in our new house is life with hardwood floors. More specifically, life with dogs and hardwood floors. More specifically, life with Molly and hardwood floors. Molly’s a big dude. She sprawls all over the house, on the living room floor, the kitchen tile, the fireplace hearth. And she’s hairy, and sometimes that hair doesn’t always stay on her person. I used to complain about her hair being everywhere until one day Chris turned to me and appropriately said, “This is what I think every day when I find your red hair all over my t-shirts.” Its true. I am a shedder. Curly red hair is all over our house, so who am I to complain about Molly?
But hardwood floors change the story a bit. While my hair can be found on expected places – my bed, in the bathroom, on the back of t-shirts – Molly’s is accumulating in places that no dog hair should ever be. Like in clumps under the bathroom sink or in piles under the desk downstairs. Hardwood floors mean that every time she sheds, the hairs are at the will of whatever gust of wind is churned up in the wake of someone walking by, blowing them into the netherregions of our home.
I feel like all I do is pick up Molly’s hair. Big clumps of it. Its like there are a million small puppies chilling by our baseboards. I know what you’re thinking. “Ever heard of a broom, Katie???” But brooms don’t seem to do much except push it around. And my Swifer (a.k.a. God’s Gift to Hardwood Floor Homeowners) just makes it wet and then pushes it around.
Is this gross? Maybe this is gross. Maybe I shouldn’t blog about this. Maybe Chris is right – some things I should just keep to myself.
But I can’t help it. These are the things that consume my day.