Airing our dirty linoleum

Some days I can’t help but feel I’ve failed in imparting some of the most integral lessons.

Today is one of those days.

We are not hosting Easter this year, but spending tomorrow with Basil’s family.

I came home from teaching Jazzercise, put together an extra-large batch of stuffed mushrooms to bring, then ran out for some Easter goodies.

Still, the Saturday chores and errands need attention, so I jumped right in.

During lunch, Catherine lobbied for a nice walk in the sun.

I first put Basil in charge of vacuuming upstairs.

“Why would I do that?” he asked, as if he hadn’t been sitting like a lump playing with his phone the entire time I cleaned the kitchen, dusted and vacuumed the main floor.

“I still have to wash the floors,” I said.

Catherine’s reply, er, floored me.

“If we’re not having company why do you have to wash the floors?” she asked.

I stared at her one or two extra beats, then explained through gritted teeth, “Because they are dirty.”

“They look fine to me,” she declared.

See? Failure.

Epic failure.