The darndest things can spur writing.
Tonight I cleaned the bathroom sink drain (for the umpteenth time) and our dishwasher drain (for the first time). The first effort was habitual; the second was exploratory. Thanks go to mom for the Drain Snake(tm) and the Tennessean Dollar General store at which she surely purchased that handy little stocking stuffer in late December.
What got me to the keyboard at quarter past 11 p.m. is what I did after I finished my domestic foray: I removed the childproof latch to our kitchen cabinet sink. Simple enough task … flathead screwdriver … turn turn turn <plink> … turn turn turn … turn turn <plink> . Done.
But it was the thought process behind removing that blessed little white plastic work of engineering genius: our son is old enough that we don’t need it. And other than frustrating adults, the little lock most likely can’t thwart any more little Hambrick fingers.
With several friends expanding their nuclear/familial child to adult ratio recently, of course we’ve considered following suit. And had we leaned more toward revisiting the lands of poopy diapers, then perhaps I wouldn’t’ve offed the lock.
But I did. And it’s all good.