I fold the laundry that covers my bed, then tackle the mess in the kitchen. I clear the sinks, sweep. I should really mop … maybe soon.
The waffle iron has been sitting on the counter for two days, waiting to be cleaned. Monday was Eliezer’s birthday, and when I asked him what he wanted as a special birthday dinner, he chose waffles. So waffles it was. We made them more festive by mixing in frozen blueberries and strawberries — which I am regretting now as I try to scrape their charred remains from the non-stick surface.
I look up suddenly and Eliezer is standing there like an apparition. He has this startling way of appearing, just suddenly being there without my ever realizing he’s approaching. I sigh. “What, Eliezer?”
“I need to make.”
“No you don’t. You just went to the bathroom before you went to bed.”
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