An unexpected day.
An extra day.
And the thing is, what would you do?
I was given an extra day the other day. It was absolutely glorious.
Guess what I did?
Did I indulge myself with a pampering experience? Did I go for a slap up meal? Was I surrounded by family and friends?
Nope to all of that.
And more than that I loved it.
I thoroughly enjoyed myself - and I usually hate housework. I avoid it at all costs. I am brilliant at breeding dust bunnies, and expert on the finer points of sweeping stuff under the carpet. I excel at creating more mess without even trying.
I resent housework, I resent its endless monotony. I resent that it's always me that has to do it.
But on my extra day, my bonus day I had the time of my life.
I think I finally got it.
On my extra day I was not doing housework really. I was thinking of all my boys. I was thinking how they would come home and find that I had cleaned their rooms and made their beds, done their laundry, cleaned the bathroom and left everything perfect just for them.
Would that it was always this easy!
Perhaps it could be, if I knew that I would not be doing it again for a couple of weeks. Maybe it's one of those "this is the last time I am having to do this moments", even though I will probably come home to a complete tip after my trip away and be straight back to major groaning and griping about it.
Maybe I felt happy because it's the knowledge that if I leave it perfect they will be obliged to keep it that way and realise during the course of the couple of weeks that I am away that housework is not as easy as it seems and thus on my return I will be all the more welcomed. More appreciated because of my absence.
It doesn't really matter why I was happy about it I am just hugging the thought that for a brief moment in time I was happy doing it.
I'm not going to knock those moments.
What would you do if you had an extra day?