MY View BY JOHN McLOONE So much for a day off Sunday morning started with an executive decision. At my 5:30 a.m. wake-up call from my two pooches, I pleaded with them for a little more time. They …
BY JOHN McLOONE
So much for a day off
Sunday morning started with an executive decision. At my 5:30 a.m. wake-up call from my two pooches, I pleaded with them for a little more time. They actually retreated to the couch and let me sleep in.
It was at that moment, I decided this was going to be a rare Sunday not in front of my keyboard. It was going to be a day for relaxation. I deduced with an early morning fog surrounding my brain that I could easily catch up on Monday. Since it’s a federal holiday, a lot of things wouldn’t happen that occur in a normal week.
Two hours later, my best-laid plans were shattered. Our house was a beehive of activity. I followed my nose to the coffee. When I entered the kitchen, I realized my day off had officially been cancelled.
Before 8 a.m., my wife already had kitchen cupboards open, and the countertops were filled with their contents. The dishwasher was already cycling. This was no longer going to be a day of rest in any way, shape or form.
We raised four kids in our home, so room by room, my bride is tackling years of clutter. We have an accumulation of coffee cups that would make Starbucks envious. Then there’s the cupboard where the variety of medicine and health care products are stored. There was a couple plastic containers of inhalers, leftover prescriptions and single pills. It needed a good cleaning, I’ll admit. It was a kind of a situation where if you went for the Advil, a couple other bottles could spill onto the countertop.
This was kind of a sneak attack planned by my bride at the last minute, apparently. There was no advance warning that a tornado of activity would take place when last I saw her on Saturday evening. I hit the pillow believing it was going to be just another Sunday. That thinking was all I had in mind when I decided to take the day off a couple hours before sunrise.
Now, I don’t know how things work around your house, but I know that at ours, it would not sit well if the woman of the house is on a cleaning binge, while the husband is sitting in his recliner, raising the TV volume over the clanking of small appliances and dinnerware being removed, cupboard by cupboard.
That first cup of coffee gave me the clarity that I needed. “I didn’t realize how late it is. I better get to the office,” I announced.
Lots of Sundays, I work at home. Much of the work I do on that day is in front of a computer, but my home office happens to be just feet from where “Hurricane Lorena” was rearranging the kitchen. Being the kind of husband I am, I knew I would be too tempted to pitch in and help if I stayed too close to the scene of the clean. She would be far better off tackling this challenge without me. She had a vision for what she wanted to accomplish.
Besides that, Sunday is an office day for me, so here I am, just wondering when it’s safe to return home.