Although Catherine and I made efforts to return to our routines on Wednesday, Basil had the remainder of this week off. (Yes, we envied him, especially as he continued to snore while we left the house each morning.)
I had to laugh each night when I got home and he detailed the things he’d been up to. (And never mind that I left him instructions each morning about what needed to be done. The photo accompanying this post is not my list — it’s for show only.)
He ran errands. And emptied the dishwasher.
And folded them. (Well, where the sheets were concerned, he sort of folded them. Clearly, he did not have the benefit of my mother’s lessons on how to fold a fitted sheet.)
He hung a picture in Catherine’s room. Ordered new feet for the broken hassock.
Organized the desk and shredded old papers.
Replaced ceiling lights in the downstairs bathroom.
He even took a stab at cleaning out his side of the closet.
By the end of the week, he’d had a long list of accomplishments to tick off. Did I see the new lights? Did I see how the picture looked in Catherine’s room? Did I notice the dishwasher was emptied and that we have new guards for the good knives?
He was itching for a gold star … or something.
While I was glad for the hand, all I could think is: I get that much done before lunch on the average Saturday. …