Every Monday I free-write whatever comes to mind.
I can’t promise you quality. I can’t promise you the feels. I can’t promise you anything, really. Except that it will always be raw, it will always be unedited, it will always be all over the place, and it will always be me. Oh, and it will always be done in my pajamas. Always. Because that’s how I roll.
Hmmm. What to talk about today…
How about… I don’t know… dirty dishes?
Yesterday Noah really, really, really, REALLY wanted to go to the store on our way home to spend some money that has been burning a hole in his pocket. The store was out of our way, and I wasn’t too keen on the idea of blowing an extra 45 minutes out of our day to watch him comb the toy aisles, developing love-it hate-it relationships with dozens of toys on his quest to find the perfect match for his twelve bucks.
But… he really, really, really, REALLY wanted to go. So, I made a deal. Pick up the house (which is only ever like five things, usually shoes), and do the dishes. If he would do that, I would take him.
The speed with which he agreed would make the wings of any hummingbird proud. “That’s nothing, Dad!” he said in his excitement. “I can do all that in like five minutes.
I drove the extra few miles. I stood and walked form aisle to aisle with him as he debated between a Lego set, and an action figure, and an electronic voice transformer. He finally settled on the Lego set, but only after I told him he had exactly two minutes to decide, followed by the longest two minutes a loving dad ever gave his kid.
We got home. I reminded him of his promise. He told me that he hadn’t made the deal for before he built his Lego set. I told him nice try. And then, finally, he begrudgingly got started on the dishes.
The sink contained exactly: (1) pre-rinsed blender jar. (1) pre-rinsed protein bottle. (1) dirty frying pan. (2) shot glasses from the weekend. (3) tumblers. And, a handful of silverware.
The dishwasher was already empty.