Diaspora Stories Awards #1: “Like this Jackie, right?”
20 de mayo de 2017 · .
Award #1 (The Knuckles & the Doll): A Story from the House That Smells Like Apple Juice and Windex
I never got to take a picture of this story. And it’s been almost two months.
Every Friday afternoon, I show up to clean a home where “the husband” hired me to help him prepare the house for “the wife,” who just had baby #2. It’s become a weekly rhythm: him and me, making the place sparkle to the sound of whatever iTunes-radio-blend he’s decided on. (Because—he never lets me pick the music.)
I tried once. I put on El Gran Combo.
“This is how we do it back home,” I explained. “It moves our brooms faster!”
He lasted one track.
“That’s the line, Jackie,” he said.
So I gave up. 😅
Usually I keep my phone in my back pocket. Whenever I catch a moment—an image, a light, a joke, a detail—I snap it. But not here. Maybe it’s because he’s always two feet away, scrubbing with intense enthusiasm, asking:
“Like this, Jackie? Is this how I’m supposed to do it?”
Maybe it’s because there’s nothing annoying enough to trigger my usual cranky-cleaner storytelling mode. Let’s be real: cleaning other people’s houses isn’t paradise. I didn’t get a Master’s degree to scrub behind a toddler’s bed. And yet, here I am.
Welcome to America.
There are moments that sting—like when a Lego stockpile attacks my feet (yes, those memes are true), or I find crusted cookie dough in the corners of the kid’s room, or I come across that same blonde doll that always smells like spoiled milk.
Like seriously—every week?
Is anybody watching what this kid is doing with that doll?
But here’s the thing: the husband is genuinely sweet. And he clearly makes an effort to make his wife happy. I get to witness this little ceremony every Friday—she comes home, pushes the stroller in, breathes in the clean air, smiles. She brings me donuts, or pastries, or a box of apple juice. She looks radiant, and I probably look like a sweaty rag. But we both smile, and for that moment, it’s perfect.
Still no photo. Until the other day.
That day, I’d swapped gloves with the husband so he could do the toilet (respect), and in the process, I scraped my knuckles badly while wrestling the curtain rods. I didn’t notice until much later.
The wife came home like always, full of stories from the park, weaving in and out of rooms, unpacking her afternoon with joy. I didn’t quite follow the whole narrative—I was tired, my hands hurt—but then she disappeared and came back with a triple antibiotic cream.
She sat down and gently rubbed it into my raw knuckles.
And in that moment, I was reminded—again—of why I’ve spent years working with pregnant and parenting people. How, despite the exhaustion, the Lego mines, the mystery of the sour-milk doll, and the endless to-do lists, there are women (and not just women—people) who still find time to care for others. Even when no one is caring for them.
Not all of them. Not all the time. But the ones who do? They leave me in awe.
Every. Single. Time.
That was the picture.
It wasn’t on my phone.
It was in my heart.
But still—I finally saw it.
Sigh.
#CleaningChronicles #LatinaInTheDiaspora #DomesticLaborDiaries #MotherhoodMoments #ElGranComboApproved #CareWorkIsRealWork #ImmigrantStories #AppleJuiceAndWindex #KnucklesAndKindness #WorkingWithFamilies #BoricuaAbroad #MujeresQueCuidan #InvisibleLabor #EverydayResistance #HouseworkAndHeartwork #RadicalKindness #StorytellingForSurvival #ThisIsAmericaToo #DonutsOverDrama #ParentingInTheRealWorld
