Faithimg
I looked up from the dryer and noticed my man in the kitchen. I was switching over the 200th load of the day. I noticed him chopping onions and peppers preparing dinner for the next day. His boots still sit by the hall, fresh from a long week of work. He cuts and dices, I fold and sort. Together, we keep the house moving. I stared at the back of his head for a while, the laundry still wet in my hands. I thought about how sometimes he cooks and I cut grass. Sometimes he gets up with the kids and I sleep. Sometimes I drive and he rides. Sometimes I work and he rests. I don’t think there is a way to evenly divide the work load- I just know when it gets too heavy for me, my man always jumps in. And that’s all that really matters isn’t it? There’s no reason to keep count or record of chores. Tonight, he cooks while I fold. And the load in my hands feels a little bit lighter.
Credit: Sprinkles In My Closet with Jenn Kish
