For the past two years, my husband had this annoying habit of springing family visits on me at the last minute. He’d casually mention his parents or sister were “dropping by” which really meant I was expected to clean, cook, and entertain with almost no notice.
Just a small thing.” Then he handed me a checklist all stuff I had to do: clean the kitchen, go grocery shopping, cook dinner and dessert, and even wipe down the baseboards! I couldn’t believe it.
He flopped onto the couch like a king, ready to relax while I scrambled around. But instead of arguing, I smiled and said, “Sure, I’ll run to the store.” Then I grabbed my purse and drove to Target. And I stayed there. I got a latte, wandered the aisles, and took my sweet time doing absolutely nothing productive.
For once, I wasn’t rushing around trying to meet someone else’s unrealistic expectations. I texted him after a while: “Still at the store. Traffic’s wild .” When I came home late the chaos was glorious. Screaming kids, half-cleaned rooms, a burnt frozen pizza on the table, and my frazzled husband desperately trying to make store-bought cheesecake look fancy. His face when he saw me? Priceless. “Where have you been?” he gasped.
