Apparently Jon wasn’t tired after our day out for his haircut, shave, manicure and dinner at Woody’s BBQ yesterday.

I left him at the restaurant with his caregiver and went back to pick him up after midweek church service. She said he didn’t order until 8:15. Since the place closes at 9, he brought most of his dinner home, but must have decided it wasn’t enough.

When I got up this morning, it looked like a bomb went off in my kitchen while I was sleeping.

All the lights were on. The peanut butter was out of the pantry partnered with a giant messy spatula and blobs of peanut butter goo on every counter surface. The jelly jar was next to the stove, smears and drips everywhere.

Toast had been made and because the butter dish was empty, Jonretrieved a stick from the fridge. It was melted to soup inside the upside down butter dish cover. I don’t even want to know how he pulled that off. 

He ate all but one piece of an entire angel food cake (reserved for today’s strawberry shortcake) and a brand new can of whip cream was sitting empty on the counter. The residue of whip cream, cake crumbs and several used forks took up residence in one of my baking pans.

Sparse leftover reminders of his take home BBQ dinner were piled up at the island counter in front of the bar stool where he must have sat. Dishes, kitchen utensils and silverware were removed from cupboards and drawers.

The kitchen looked like we’d had an army over for Thanksgiving Dinner so the first part of my morning was spent washing dishes, wiping down countertops and sweeping floors.

I took Jon for a physical last week and he’s lost a few more pounds. He’s a bit too skinny right now so I’ve been encouraging him to eat up.

Maybe this midnight kitchen raid is proof that he does listen when I speak. I’d like to think so. 

Or maybe he just enjoys feeling independent once in a while, making a few of his own choices without my running commentary in his ears.

No annoying Me, yapping at him:

“Put the peanut butter away and the spatula in the sink, please.”

“You got jelly all over the counter. Here, wipe that up.”

“You can’t eat the WHOLE Angel Food cake, Jon.”

“I just bought that whip cream. Please save some for the shortcake.”

Oh My Gosh, Jon! You can’t soften the butter that way, it looks like soup!”

And the zillion other things I’d have to bite my tongue in half to NOT say if I was present.

Whatever his reasons were, I hope he had fun without me. I’m sure I had more fun sleeping than watching him create disaster in my kitchen.