It’s 6:45 am on Thursday, and I am staring at a sink full of dirty dishes. They have probably been there since Monday and I am in no rush to clean them. Like many Black children, I was raised to clean the kitchen every night. I couldn’t go to bed with dishes in the sink, crumbs on the kitchen floor or food stains on the stove or counter tops. Naturally as an adult, I automatically feel conditioned to raise my children the same way and lead by example.
But not this week. Mama is tired. I skipped a gym day. I didn’t clean my makeup brushes. I randomly ate a bratwurst and it wasn’t even that good. But it’s OK. It’s OK to see a rogue Cheerio peeking out from under the couch and not immediately sweep and vacuum the entire living room. Show me a spotless house with kids under 13 and I will show you a liar.
The dishes will get done today — because I am tired of looking at them and I’m pretty sure that I used a serrated bread knife to slice an apple. This week I am not going to focus on where I fell short. I am going to celebrate the small wins. Logan’s permission slip was turned in early, I reached 9.3 speed on the treadmill, my abs are coming back, and I got some really good sleep this week. So boom! I think I am doing pretty well.
