The roles were reversed at my house last week, with me traveling to a conference and my husband staying in town. He’s usually the business traveler.
The night before my trip, we all cooked together and ate dinner together, sharing time, conversation and sustenance.
At the end of the meal, we moved toward the sink.
Usually the cook in our house gets a free pass on doing the dishes. This time, because we all cooked, son Number Two and I agreed to tackle the dishes while Dad took the dog for a walk. (Son Number One is away at college.)
Number Two set about filling the sink with water. He has a set way he believes that this task is supposed to be done, so I deferred and became best supporting actress, putting away leftover food, spices, and kitchen tools.
As I filled a glass storage dish with the leftover polenta and mushroom ragout, Two spoke.
“I wish we didn’t have to do dishes,” he said.
“Yes,” I replied, reflecting. “But dirty dishes mean that we had food to eat.”
True, he agreed, and we both were silent.
A few minutes later, I put the sticky pan into the sink to soak and Two finished the last of his dishes. As he moved to his computer on the other side of the kitchen island, I washed the ragout pan and wiped down the counter, then sighed.
“I’ve got to go pack,” I mumbled with an unmistakable tone of dread.
My words received quick acknowledgement.
“Yes,” he said. “But packing means you get to go someplace new and do something fun.”
He grinned at me.
Sometimes the student becomes the teacher.
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