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The Cleaning Connection

I recognized the words my daughter spoke, as they belong to a fantasy of mine.

She’d come deliberately to where I was hovering over the keys of the computer and plunked her behind beside me on the couch.

“I really appreciate all the cleaning you do around the house,” she said.

I reformed the words she’d said with my lips.

I had heard incorrectly. I was sure of it.

I shifted from the screen, as she affirmed her unprompted compliment before agonizing.  “Remember how I spent an hour cleaning the bathroom upstairs? Even the counters?”

And I did remember. I’d assigned the job.

“Well,” she despaired, “it’s already messed up again, and I didn’t even do it.”

I smiled. Not the laughing kind. And not because her hard work had lasted part of a day.

But because I could see it…I could see the connection she’d drawn to how I must feel.

She said it again, like a sigh. “I really appreciate all the cleaning you do around here.”

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