[1]When I reach for the tube of toothpaste in my bathroom cabinet, I think of my mother. She would’ve never let any dirt accumulate. She scrubbed inside and out. She also went to work, came home and cooked, ironed our clothes. She was so weary at bedtime, there was nothing left. I made a mental note of this growing up, determined to make different choices. This could be why I don’t own an iron. I rarely clean behind things. I don’t neatly stack my t-shirts. And I believe I’m happier.
House of Atlas by Grace Weston [1]