My son offered to sweep the kitchen floor. Though tall enough to hold a full-sized broom normally, he instead gripped it as if he were planning to whack a mouse and then slid the bristles across the vinyl tiles, managing to collect a few dog hairs and bread crumbs with each slow, inefficient motion.
While wiping the counters, I watched him, debating whether or not to say something. Should I recommend a better way?
My mind flashed to a summer day at the farm house where I grew up. After Dad and my brother finished mowing near the house, my job was to [Read more...]
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