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 and 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 workload- 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 a count or record of chores.
Tonight, he cooks while I fold. And the load in my hands feels a little bit lighter.