The Saturday Switch-Up

 Saturday morning rolled in with birds chirping and my mom banging a pot lid against the counter like she was summoning an army.

I groaned into my pillow. “Why are you like this?”

She yelled from the kitchen, cheerful and dangerous: “It’s cleaning day, baby! Let’s make this house shine and our stomachs sing!”

I peeked out of my blanket and immediately regretted it. Sunlight hit my face like judgment. Still, the smell of fried dumplings and cinnamon tea managed to drag me out of bed. If I was going to suffer, I might as well do it with a full stomach.

In the kitchen, my mom was already in her cleaning clothes—old T-shirt from a family reunion, leggings, and a scarf tied in a big knot at her forehead like she meant business. My older brother K was drying dishes like he was in a slow-motion music video. My cousin Joy showed up out of nowhere, as usual, holding a bucket and a portable speaker.

“Is this a surprise party or a boot camp?” I asked, grabbing a plate of dumplings.

“Both,” Joy grinned. “You can cry or you can dance, but you will clean.”

And just like that, the Saturday Switch-Up began.

That’s what we called it—“Switch-Up”—because the day always started one way and ended up somewhere totally different. You might begin mopping and end up having a deep conversation about self-worth while reorganizing a closet. You might start wiping windows and find yourself rediscovering family photo albums, laughing over old hairstyles and awkward baby faces.

We moved room to room, switching jobs, switching partners, switching playlists. K vacuumed while rapping badly to Joy’s music. I dusted bookshelves while Mom danced with a broom like it was a prom date. Every so often, we’d pause to sip iced hibiscus tea or snack on whatever Mom had whipped up—today it was plantain fritters and tangy mango slices dusted with chili.

In the middle of cleaning the hallway mirror, I caught my reflection—sweaty, messy bun, flour on my cheek from helping with the dumplings earlier. I paused.

I didn’t look perfect. I looked real. And for once, that felt beautiful.

“Girl, what are you doing?” Joy said behind me. “That mirror ain’t gonna wipe itself.”

“I know,” I said, smiling at myself one more time. “Just... appreciating the view.”

By the end of the day, the house smelled like lemon, lavender, and leftovers. It glowed in that way only a lived-in, loved-on house can. We all collapsed in the living room with mismatched plates of food—dumplings, fritters, leftover pasta salad from the fridge, and even some pickles for reasons I still don’t understand.

Joy raised her glass of iced tea. “To chaos, crumbs, and clean mirrors.”

We toasted, clinked, and sipped, sprawled across couches and rugs like we were kings and queens of our tiny cleaned-up castle.

It wasn’t just the sparkling floors or the fresh sheets. It was us—the food, the laughter, the way no one had to pretend.

And honestly, that kind of clean? That’s the kind I’ll chase forever.