I’m home sick from work today. Day 6 of a terrible, stupid, annoying cough that is driving me and my little family crazy. Huz just took L-Bear with him to do errands. I have the whole house to myself for the first time … well in a very long time. I should be sleeping. My eyes are heavy, and I finally stopped coughing every other minute. Instead, I keep staring at the pile of laundry in the bedroom – it’s grown out of the laundry basket and onto the floor. It reminds me of the Margory the Trashheap of Fraggle Rock fame.
I convinced myself that Margory can wait another few days so I can sleep, and started walking toward the couch for a cat nap, then noticed the dust bunnies scurrying across the living room floor. I decided to check Facebook to distract myself from the dashing rabbits, and was reminded of the pile of things in my office that still need to be put away after our trip to the Berkshires to visit family last weekend. Sigh.
So, instead of sleeping (which I should be doing) or cleaning (which I’m going to regret not doing), I found myself thinking. I thought back to my late high school years and how my mom used to call me Cinderelly. Growing up, my sister and I were responsible for a certain number of chores. We were expected to take the dogs out, change their water, start the laundry, set the table, start dinner, and help with the cleaning up after dinner every day – things every responsible teenager can handle. I was notorious, though, for complaining and for disappearing just in time. My parents, knowing me well, knew that I wasn’t being a jerk… I am simply easily distracted, so began teasing me about my lack of enthusiasm to assist by calling me Cinderelly.