I was getting ready to pick Blake up from Peacemaker Clubs (my church's version of vacation Bible school), when I got a call from an unknown number. The realtor on the other end mentioned that we were listed as short notice, and he was wondering how short was too short.
I scanned my counter, littered with the debris of life: a loaf of bread, my planner, work papers, bananas, a laundry basket, breakfast dishes, and asked what he had in mind.
"We can be there in about ten minutes, but I do not want to put you out."
I made a quick calculation and said, "Nope! This is a perfect time. I have to pick my son up from somewhere, so I was going to be gone anyway."
Before I'd closed my phone, I'd grabbed that (freshly emptied) laundry basket and swept through the kitchen and living room. The little dish containing my wedding rings was unceremoniously dropped into the mop bucket, along with my purse and a newspaper. Blake's room was mostly okay, but they'd definitely know that a small boy who loves LEGOs lives there. Our room was also pretty good. I had time to put away shoes and clear off a desk and coffee table. I cleaned the kitchen counter off to bare bones. I turned on the lights and turned the bluegrass music playing down to an ambient level.
As I threw the (now full) laundry basket and mop bucket into the car, I called Rob and warned him not to come home, as it was being shown. He was as surprised as I was at the brevity of the notice, and asked how the house looked.
"I've finally found a purpose and reason for why I'm wound so tightly and have you and Blake stay so tidy! And thank you thank you THANK YOU for making the bed this morning and helping Blake make his."