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What Matters

Um.

I realize now…

That it doesn’t matter that I vacuumed every crumb in the house–upstairs and down. Or that I mopped the floors after that. Or that I mowed the lawns while the grass was still wet and the bag kept falling off. Or that I swept the corners of the concrete where the dog hair congregates. Or that I washed towels and rugs and wayward underwear.

It doesn’t matter that I emptied plates from the dishwasher and reloaded it with cups.

Or that I baked and stirred and sliced and wiped. That I rinsed and gathered, hole-punched and folded.

It doesn’t matter.

None of it.

To them.

Because what they really wanted…

Was me.

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