Ten years ago we redid our kitchen. The older boys came home at Christmas for the demolition and were more than a little excited at the chance to use a sledgehammer in the house. After the old cupboards were out, and the literal dust was cleared, we found creative ways to concoct meals. The microwave was handy.

In the weeks that followed a friend guided me in the process of laying the tiles. I wanted a quilt pattern and took great pleasure in learning how to use plaster and grout. After finishing the part that would be mostly hidden I looked up at my friend for approval. 

"This is so beautiful I don't want to cover it with a dishwasher!"

He tilted his head and smiled without comment. 

A decade later our lovely kitchen shows signs of wear. As well it should. But there has been an unsavory smell coming from under the dishwasher for a few weeks. A rodent chewed through the hoses in search of food. And left unpleasant things behind. He has since been defeated and I have wanted to get under there and clean it, to get rid of the odor, but it never occurred to me that I could. Then last night John pulled the appliance away from the wall in preparation for replacing the hose. 

There is was. The evidence of the intruder. I fetched a broom and dustpan and readied myself for an unpleasant task. 

"I wanted this, I wanted this..." I muttered to myself. Cleaning away the crud was something I had wished for, and I used it as meager fuel to actually face the grime. 

In church this week we were invited to write on paper fruit the attributes we are thankful for. I surprised myself by writing "I don't yell anymore". Mind you I was not a yeller pre kids, but in the days of diapers and high chairs, I made up for lost time. Gradually I worked to scrub away that personal flaw, and it has not shown up for awhile. 

Ironically this was a scant few minutes before Benjamin came unglued. Just after the last song his face scrunchled up and I got ready for a nor'easter. John and I steered him to the door, and outside where he let loose the full power of his lungs and flailing fists. It lasted longer than usual, and after a month of calm caught me off guard. 

But I didn't yell.

I could despair over the ordeal of our messy exit. I could dive into melancholy over the set back. It is also within my purview to celebrate that a small part of me has come clean.