There was a fumbling at the door. Laughter. Girls fell in, in a flurry of uniform, bags and gangling keys.
“Uh oh. Mom’s been cleaning.” Girl1 had noticed a difference in the air, the can of polish on the window sill.
Girl2 burst into song.
They came to check I was ok. I’d been in bed for ages, and now this unusual behaviour. Is the book club due? Is Nana coming to visit?
Neither of those things. I’ve just found the limit of dust that’s acceptable (don’t try to count in days).
Yes, our house is a midden.
But I am just about upright and engaging with the world again, so really, who cares?