Three Days of the Kitchen Floor

“”It will happen this way,” I said to our little Gecko, who looked at me dubiously. “You may be walking. Maybe the first sunny day of the fall. And a car will slow beside you, and a door will open, and someone you know, maybe even trust, will get out of the car. And she will smile, a becoming smile. But she will leave open the door of the car and offer to give you a lift.”

And thus began our Three Days of the Kitchen Floor, in which our entire household had to vacate the premises while a team of agents restored the wooden floors in our very old house.

The operation required a planning meeting, seven backpacks and a Google Doc.

“So, I’ll pick him up here and you drive them there and then we’ll go up there,” I said slowly while my feeble brain whirled. “And we’ll move all of the furniture and appliances over there.”

I mean, what could go wrong?

I maintained this optimism (minus the hubris) even after I dropped my mother-in-law’s prized and shockingly heavy hutch directly on my bare foot (breakfront indeed!) as we lugged it out of the dining room.

“We’ve got this!” I cheerfully said to myself as I worked up a sweat yesterday morning, tossing toothbrushes into various backpacks, tying shoes and searching frantically for the only garage door opener not currently in the locked garage.

Found it! Whew!

Lastly, I gathered up Miss Dino, our reclusive leopard gecko, and carried her out of the house.

“I’ve got a plan,” I told her. “I don’t know if it’ll work or not, but I’ll need your help.”

She rolled her cute little eyes.

“Have I ever denied you anything?”

She looked appalled though as, with the help of an accomplice, I drove her 2.7 miles to the pristine home of Grandma Peggy, who had agreed to babysit her grand-gecko.

I got Miss Dino settled, filled her water bowl and gave her a little pep talk.

“It didn’t have to end this way,” she said.

“Of course it did.”