The backpacks dropped on the floor just inside the door near the bottom of the stairs are heavy.
I keep stubbing my toes on them, pausing to cast a disappointed look at the basket sitting empty
it is the job of this basket to corral the backpacks.
The breakfast dishes from each morning greet me at the end of each long day.
I cringe at the bits of dried-on food, trying in vain to avoid noticing the mostly empty dishwasher sitting
it is the job of this machine to keep dishes out of sight.
The laundry basket sits tipped on one side just inside the door of the tiny laundry room.
I cannot open the door to get to the dryer without a complicated dance with the door
and the pile of clean clothes;
it is the job of this basket to contain those clothes.
The refrigerator packed full with food just two days ago appears alarmingly empty again.
I fill it regularly, making sure that there is food to feed five hungry people for at least
one work week;
it is the job of the refrigerator to be full of food.
All these undone jobs mock me as I walk from room to room day in and day out.
I issue clear reminders, simplifying as much as possible so there is no
confusion over what to do;
it is my job to see the jobs get done.