Broccoli

That's what our house has smelled like for the past couple of weeks. Broccoli.

It's disgusting.

Not the broccoli itself, just the smell of steamed broccoli. Okay, so at first, when it is first cooked, is smells fine, appetizing even.

But day after day after day of broccoli has gotten old.

Tom is on a broccoli kick.

And it's gross. The broccoli smell, that is.

So today, I cleaned. I swept and mopped the floors, vacuumed, changed the sheets on every bed and lit candles.

Lots of candles.

And yes, the house smells so much better. And, best of all, Tom's out of broccoli for the night.

Let me point out that I'm not the best of housekeepers. I admit that openly. I'm not the best of cooks either.

What am I good at? Well, these days I'm good at reading to Olivia each evening before bed.

I'm good at making lunches for Alyssa every single day for school.

I'm good at listening to Tom talk about how well he's doing on his weight-loss/get fit program, even thought inside I'm seething with jealousy and fighting the urge to ask something like, "Other than losing eighty pounds, what can I do to be a better wife to you?"

I don't ask that, though, because it would make him feel bad and I don't want to do that.

So today, I overcame my inate laziness in an effort to make our home more pleasant and less broccolish.

And it was good.