Chelsey’s parents were concerned she would come here and get a 2 week long vacation filled with late mornings, breakfast in bed and spa treatments.
I know! At my house?!
Excuse me while I surpress my hysterics . . .
Ahem . . .
They were assured that – aside from late mornings, ’cause that’s how we roll – she would be worked, worked and worked some more. After all, I am my mother’s daughter and have full knowledge of how to exploit slave labor when I have the chance. I was all over it.
Thankfully, Chelsey was a cheerful worker. Enthusiastic even. The above smile as she cleaned out the pantry? One hundred percent authentic.
She never flagged, not even when the pantry took over the table, threatening to tower over us. It was at this point that I hit the wall, despairing that all was lost.
She kept me going.
In that moment, I learned an important lesson. A truth, it must be noted, that my mom has said for years. It is this: it is not that I don’t like to clean or am bad at it, but that I don’t like to clean ALONE. Seriously, where’s the fun in that?
Perhaps this lesson was hard to accept because I’m not someone who does things based simply on whether or not they are “fun.” Again, I am my mother’s daughter. I have weeded, painted, roofed, cooked, sewn, etc., etc., all without any promise or guise of fun and enjoyed myself immensely. But cleaning? Not so much.
With that said and realized, Chelsey and I accomplished a great deal. Okay, okay. Chelsey got a lot done and I helped. But the burden seemed light and, aside from the moment with the pantry guts piled on the table, doable.
LIFE seemed doable.
Funny how a little organization and a friend can do that.
*Post Script – These pictures are for Chelsey’s parents. Trust us Cindy, the pantry was an undertaking! And while the pantry is still pristine, everything else fell apart approximately 1 day, 7 hours, 23 minutes and 14 seconds after Chelsey stepped on the plane. Sorry Chels. Come back!