I have always hated dusting. I just don’t get it. It is the least satisfying of all household chores: you run a cloth along the tops of picture frames and under vases and in the end the entire room looks exactly as it did before. Even a cleaning a toilet leaves me some satisfaction because there is definitely a transformation when I clean the toilets that my three boys have all taken their best aim at over the week.
Lately, though, dusting has become my favorite thing in the whole world. I’d be dusting right now, if I weren’t sitting here baking cookies and blogging while Leo naps. This week I am dusting the “old” part of the house, the part that didn’t get remodeled, which is about 75% of the house and which is covered in dust that would probably be best measured in pounds. I swipe and the dresser top actually changes color from gray to white. I have to change rags all the time, they get so dirty, and I feel like I am making a difference. I am a difference maker!
More than the actual dusting itself is the thought that with each room I dust, I am one hour closer to moving back home. This one radio station has already started playing Christmas music, and I nearly peed myself when they played “I’ll Be Home For Christmas.”
Folks, I’m going home for the holidays. Home sweet home. Home, where the heart is. Home, man’s castle. Home, where you hang your hat. Home, where you scratch where it itches. Home, the place where clichés are made but the beds never are.
But you can bet your best dish rag that my home, at least for a week, will be dusted.
WHAT’S COOKIN’ 2NITE:
Wild rice and butternut squash salad
Plain old peas
Chocolate cupcakes with mocha Swiss meringue buttercream frosting