I left home on Friday for a long weekend, spending some time with a friend on a writing retreat.
I wanted to go, I really did. But I left with a bit of trepidation. I'm not good at leaving home. I miss my family, even for a weekend, and besides, you never know what dad will allow when mom's not around.
Coke for breakfast? Dirty kids all day? No teeth brushing before bed? What will happen when mom isn't around to nag all the time?
A lot, apparently. But ... not in the way I thought. In fact, when I came home, the kids were clean and happy, the grocery shopping was done, the laundry was folded, and pictures that had been propped up in the hall were now hanging properly - and some new ones had been added too.
And for the piece de resistance, my shower - the bane of my cleaning existence - had somehow been scraped free of its buildup of grody rust and lime. My husband had found a cleaner (CLR - Calcium, Lime and Rust remover) and scrubbed it clean as a little welcome-back present for me.
Maybe I should leave more often.
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