I’m a single mother of two young children – the housework was always done at night, and then I finally saw it with my own eyes.

I work from home as a freelance accountant, which isn’t very prestigious. But it pays the rent and keeps the lights on while giving me the flexibility to be there when the children need me.

Most of the time, I juggle customer calls while refereeing toy truck battles and wiping up fruit juice spills on the couch.

When I put my children to bed, I am so exhausted I can barely stand.

On Monday evening, I stayed up until almost one in the morning to finish a quarterly report for a client.

The kitchen was a mess. Dishes were piled up in the sink. Crumbs were scattered on the counter. And there was a sticky stain on the floor where Sophie had spilled her chocolate milk a little while earlier.

When I put my children to bed,

I’m so exhausted

that I can barely stand up.

I knew I had to clean, but I was too tired to do it.

I’ll take care of it tomorrow morning.

When I entered the kitchen at six o’clock the next day, I froze in the doorway.

The dishes were washed and neatly stacked on the drying rack.

The counters were spotless.

The floor was swept.

I stood there for a full minute, staring at the clean kitchen as if it were some kind of optical illusion.

When I entered the kitchen at six o’clock the next day,

I froze in the doorway.

Then I went to Jeremy’s room and stuck my head inside.

“Son, did you clean the kitchen last night?”

He looked up from the Lego tower he was building and giggled. “Mom, I can’t even reach the sink.”

You’re right.

I tried to convince myself that I had done it in a sort of exhausted fog… that I had done the dishes while sleepwalking and had forgotten.

But the more I thought about it, the less sense it made.

“Mom, I can’t even reach the sink.”