Last night after dinner, we all pitched in to clean the basement. We usually never work on Sunday, but the house was a bigger wreck than most other Sundays. To prove how much we did, I'm going to admit to doing something that I usually never do. Even the thought of doing it gives me hives. The aversion runs deep, my friends. Deep! We did dishes by hand. A whole sink's worth of dishes. After we had already filled the dishwasher strategically and to the max. We were down to using our hands as bowls for cereal with milk. Desperate times at the Dirks' house.
While all of the work was happening, there was plenty of noise. Mostly arguing and complaining, but we won't mention that in detail. However, there was one little boy that was not participating in the contention. In fact, he brought levity to the whole situation. While chaos was happening all around, not a place to step without mess, not a place to look without spotting something that could be put (*cringe* or thrown) away, Tyson spun around and proclaimed, "There is nothing to do, but dance!"
I'd like to say that we all stopped what we were doing and just danced, but that would be a lie. I was stressed to the max and more than a little grumpy. I had had a headache (bordering migraine many times) since Thursday. The thought of cleaning everything by myself Monday morning (hoping that the headache would finally ease) had me wound pretty tight. Randy and I had a good laugh before I became 'Micro-Manager Mom', pointing out all that still needed to be done. My head felt like it was about to explode, but I kept the devil horns from sprouting. The whip was cracked, but my voice stayed calm. The house got cleaned. The headache has left. And now I can dance...
On mountains of laundry.
It's a good life.
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