It's amazing how inconvenient a small injury like a burned hand can be. Really, I can't complain. I can still use my hand for most things. Even bandaged up I can still pick up things, vacuum, drive, and do nearly everything I usually do, which I'm grateful for. Soon it will be healed enough that I won't need to wear a bandage. But it is true that we tend to not appreciate what we have until it's gone.
What has been "gone" for me this week is the ability to work with anything that is wet. Showers are more difficult. So are dishes. They both involve warm water, and both can get bandages dirty. Both of those, though, I've figured out how to do one-handed. The thing I HAVEN'T figured out how to do one handed is wipe down counters. It involves a dirty, wet rag held in two hands. That definitely is not working for me right now. The current state of my poor counters backs up that statement.
Yesterday evening I was tired. I've been unusually tired this past week (I imagine it has something to do with not sleeping enough. Funny how that works). It was late, I was tired, the house was a mess, and I was discouraged both about not having done everything I could have done and also not having done everything I couldn't have done anyway.
Noticing my distress, my husband suggested, "Why don't you go to bed while I stay up to do the kitchen?" The kitchen is usually my domain, but (for the moment) he can knock out all the kitchen chores much more quickly than his lame wife.
I ended up asking him not to stay up because we hate going to bed at different times and he needed his rest as much as I did. (He did put the food away, choosing not to give me an option on that one). But I knew his offer to stay up and clean was genuine, self-sacrificing, and born out of his love for me. That alone was enough to cheer me up as we went to sleep that night.