I spent half of last night on a pallet on the floor in my bathroom with a coughing, vomiting 3-year-old. (The steamed-up bathroom was the only thing that calmed his cough a little.) On most days, this might have been gross. But last night it was not, which leads to my confession.
I have hired my sisters to take turns coming for two hours a week and help with my weekly "Quick Clean." (For my fellow flybabies, this would be my version of the Weekly Home Blessing.)
It makes me happy. And relieved. And energized to do Zone work throughout the week.
Thank you, Husband of mine, for insisting we work this into the budget. I don't deserve you.
Or maybe I should say I'm sorry for letting the house get to the point that you should insist we work this into the budget. No. The other way sounds better. Thank you.