Last night, rather than engage in the usual fight over who will do the dishes (F&L take turns but our schedule had some interruptions between overnight guests and unusual lunchtime dish-doing behavior), I decided to do the dishes myself. Are you gasping? If you are, then you are just like F&L who act as though the 13 years of my cooking, cleaning and generally waiting on them hand and foot never happened. The hoots of mock horror and delight at the mere thought that Mom would do the supper dishes!
I ignored their remarks. For, you see, I had a notion that, while doing the dishes, I would have a little piece of dark chocolate that I had left on top of the fridge the night before. Saved it, you might say. The vision of quietly doing the dishes while eating the rich, dark chocolate seemed so perfect, so divine, that I was ready to do a mountain of dishes.
Alas, when I reached for my little secret, it was gone! Someone had spied it and ate it up. People are just getting too tall around here.
Not to worry, however. I found other chocolate and ate three little squares of it. Even if I may not be the tallest in the house for much longer, I am still the mom and that should, by rights, have some benefits.