Thanks, Mom.
Dylan came home from his week away with a suitcase full of incredibly dirty laundry. I asked him to sort it, which he did. And I started washing it.
During the week that he was gone, I’d washed his sheets, pillowcases and comforter. He’d not had the comforter washed for awhile, and it was definitely time. He keeps his room surprisingly clean, so I really didn’t have to do anything else “for” him.
For a week, I did nothing for him.
It was a hard week for me. I am accustomed to doing very, very, very much “for” him. Mostly now I tell him what to do, rather than actually doing it. I consider this an improvement in my behavior.
But when I was doing Dylan’s laundry, I wasn’t the slightest bit bothered. I was happy to do it.
I was not as happy when Dylan announced that the dog had jumped on his bed, then vomited. On Dylan’s comforter. The comforter I’d just washed.
So I berated the dog. Then I got the comforter off of Dylan’s bed, and headed down to the laundry room.
I passed Dylan along the way. “Thanks, Mom,” he said.
“You’re welcome, Son,” I said.
Thanks, Mom.
His words lit me up like a Christmas tree. I felt like washing his comforter every day of the week. I almost wanted the dog to vomit on it again, so I could wash it again, so I could hear those words again.
He totally made my day.
Dylan says thank you a lot. But he’s not usually out of town for a week, so I don’t usually forget how often he says thank you. So I appreciated it all the more.
The truth is, I don’t mind doing the work. But knowing it’s appreciated makes it almost not work. Having someone say a simple “thank you” while I’m doing a job just makes all the difference in the world.
I put the comforter in the washer and started it up. Then I went into the kitchen, where Bill was emptying the dishwasher.
Hm, I thought, looking at Bill.
“Thank you,” I said.