Welcome home. I think.
I arrived home last night after being away for a week of training in York, Maine.
It was wonderful to be home. Hannah welcomed me with a plate of homemade brownies. Yum.
I was so happy to be home that I ignored the dirty pots and pans stacked on the stove and the counter piled high with debris and dishes. Paul mentioned having done the dishes while I was gone. I do believe that one time may have been his crowning moment. Still, I walked right passed mess and reveled in the comfort of Home.
My euphoria lasted until after my second cup of coffee this morning. A fresh look at the kitchen had me informing everyone that I was not going to clean up the kitchen. I did not make the mess. I wasn’t even here. I was not going to do it. No one was going to take a clean dish or pot out of the cupboard until they’d cleaned up the mess they’d left behind.
Despite my lecture, I found myself beginning to straighten things up. As soon as I realized what I was doing, I stopped and tossed out one more “I’m not cleaning up the kitchen” and marched into the bedroom.
Behind me, I heard Paul mutter to Hannah, “When’s mommy’s next training?”
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