Elbow Grease

So I have been having some issues with the hardwood floors in the House of Amy.  First off, they are beautiful and I wouldn't trade them for anything else.  But, they have been slowly driving me to drink (more).  When I moved in, I noticed they were dirty, smudgy, footprinty, streaky, etc... but I figured I could get them cleaned in no time. 

I went to Target, looked through the cleaners, grabbed one and ran home to clean my floors.  Yes, I ran.  Once I get something in my head, I have to do it yesterday.  So I followed the directions to a T and woke up the next morning to a disaster.  Horrible streaking and residue.  Perfect.  I thought it was the cleaner's issue so I tried a damp cloth, I was a lame-o who put a facebook status asking what to use, made several phone calls to a fellow neat freak, and nothing worked.  In fact, they kept getting worse. 

Even Sister Pister, who was staying with me, was starting to panic a bit.  And what you need to know about Sister Pister is that she is polar opposite of me.  Not a neat freak.  Not one little bit.  Needless to say, I was in full on freak out mode. 

I started thinking maybe my finish was weird and I was using the wrong things because I had an off the wall finish or worse yet, no finish at all.  It was at that point that I decide, well, I guess I'm just going to have to track down the guy who built this house.  Yep, he'll tell me what in tarnation is going on.  It was Sunday.  At one o'clock.  I called anyway.  I left a message. 

It sounded something to the tune of this, "You built my house a few years ago and I need to know what finish is on the floor as soon as possible."  I hung up and thought, wow, you don't sound wacky at all.  I also thought, yeah that's a call that won't be returned.  I'm pretty sure I sounded like a crazed lady; you know the one you see in the stores saying, "I've never worn these pants, I don't know why they have coffee on them.  I've never worn them.  Are you calling me a liar?" and swear to yourself you will never be.  I'm here to tell you folks, I became "that lady." 

As you know, that night I baked and ironed to try and get my mind off the blasted floors.  Monday I went to work and what do you know?  At two thirty in the afternoon I get a call, of course I couldn't answer it because I was working, but Mr. Builder left a voice message that sounded something to the tune of this, "Yes, this is ------- calling you back.  I did some research on your floors and I think I have some information that will help you.  Call me back when you have a minute."  I was stunned. 

Mr. Builder -- I heart you. 

Anyway, I called him back and he told me exactly what type of floor I have, the finish, where they were bought, etc... because he had pulled the original invoice and called the place they were purchased.  Seriously?!  I love this guy and I've never met him.  We then proceeded to talk for a good half an hour about how I'm living the dream and so is he. 

Turns out they are completely normal floors with a completely normal wood floor finish.  They are maple.  They are Shaw.  They are butterscotch.  Again, original invoice, can't believe Mr. Builder!  He says to me, "I bet someone who lived there before cleaned them with something they shouldn't have.  Sounds like you have a residue issue."

Yes a residue issue.  That makes perfect sense Mr. Builder. 

I went to the store they were purchased to get some heavy duty cleaner and supplies.  Then, I came home and washed all approximately 1,200 square feet of wood floors in my house.  On my hands and knees.  Yes, on my hands and knees.  I then noticed they were still bad news bears so I washed them again.  On my hands and knees.  They still weren't fabulously shiny so I washed them again.  On my hands and knees.  

It worked.  They are now officially clean and SHINY.  I would like to strangle whoever used whatever it was they used.  I would also like to say if you are in my area and need to know who to have build your house, contact me and I'll tell you the real name of Mr. Builder because he seriously rocks.  

As I was scrubbing, drying, scrubbing, drying, scrubbing, and drying, I couldn't help but think about how I am so thankful that Dad-o made me work real hard when I was growing up and I was especially thankful that Dad-o taught me that once you start a job you better finish it and finish it right.  

In fact, what really kept popping into my head was the time Brother and I had to clean the barn.  That's not such an out of the ordinary job when you grow up on a farm, but there was a tub.  I still get the shivers thinking about it and if you are squeamish, you might not want to keep reading. 

Said tub was almost as tall as we were.  Said tub was supposed to be full of oats.  Said tub was instead full, and I mean full, of maggots.  Yep, you heard me.  Brother and I were not very old.  Brother and I ran to tell Dad-o.  Brother and I heard this from Dad-o, "Put it on the tractor bucket and go dump it in the pit."  Not one bit of sympathy.  Not one bit of "oh that's gross."  Just here's how you solve the problem, now go do it.  And guess what?  We did.  We gagged our way though it, but we did it.  

Making wood floors shine and maggots, now that's a correlation probably not often made.  The unexpected...it's really what I'm all about.