It’s been a relatively easy transition back to “normal” life. The girls have been well-behaved, our stomachs have adjusted to our usual eating habits and the shock of being back in the land of wealth and opportunity has not been quite as jarring as it was the first time around.
There are still moments, however, that stop me dead in my tracks. A few days ago when I was sweeping up the usual suspects (dog hair, crumbs, and dirt) from my floors, my mind was racing, thoughts like: “Ugh, this dog! there is no way to keep my hardwood floors clean with a dog” and ”crumbs! The second I clean the last round of crumbs another snack or meal is consumed and boom, the floors are crumbly again” and “where does all this dirt come from? This is so stinking gross.”
And then in that moment, I stopped. Literally. I stopped sweeping. See, my friend, Christabelle (Kimberly’s mom) has dirt floors. Her floors are dirt. Seriously, all dirt. In her maybe 250 square foot home, there are only metal and plastic walls and dirt floors. There are beds propped on blocks and a small cook-top is her only kitchen.
You can see the walls behind us here…
I remember sitting here with Christabelle when she wanted to show me something that was sitting on the floor. As she lifted it she realized it was covered in dirt and she spent a few quick seconds whiping it clean before she presented it to me.
I wonder if Christabelle sweeps her dirt floors. I wonder if she complains as she does….about all that dirt.