I love my husband. I’m amazed that he wants me home with our Doodle while he labors 40 hours a week making just barely enough for us to pay the bills. I’m amazed that he doesn’t mind coming home to toys still strewn about the house even though Doodle’s been sleeping for 3 hours. He’s not even upset when he has to pull a dirty dish out of the fully loaded dishwasher and wash it by hand because I totally spaced pushing the darn start button. Seriously, awesome catch on my part, but what the heck is he thinking?
I’m not all bad. I try my darndest to make him wonderful chickeny and beefy foods, tasty snacks, and delicious sweets, and apparently I’m not half bad at most of it. At least, that’s what he tells me. But my husband will eat anything. Anything. And he really doesn’t like to hurt my feelings. The very first time I ever made him chicken, it took about ten times of me asking him if it’s good or if there’s anything he wants me to do differently for him to tell me it was actually really dry. I have no idea! I can’t taste it before I serve it. I don’t know how to cook this stuff, what it looks like when it’s done. All I know is that I feel like there’s salmonella on every surface in the kitchen!
So aside from me being a dutiful wife cooking meaty goodness for my hubby regardless of my own vegetarian diet, I mean, what else is left in being a housewife/stay-at-home-mama? I keep Doodle alive, so I guess that’s a plus.
But like, the dishes, ugh I hate dishes! It’s not even the dishes that I hate. It’s the gross ones that sit in the sink. The marinade of used food particles on them as they await loading. I know I could use gloves, but I always forget about gloves, so I never use gloves. So I try to just keep up on putting clean dishes away, that way we can just throw our dirty ones in the dishwasher and forgo the whole marinade bit. But man oh man, if I forget to put away dishes for even half a day, or if I make the mistake of cooking and dirtying up a whole bunch of new dishes while the dishwasher is going, does that sink fill up fast or what! Then my lack of motivation to do it starts to snowball along with the gross factor, and after another day or two, I’m just crazy overwhelmed and we’re all out of clean plates, forks, and coffee cups.
Then there’s laundry… with the three of us, we get about two loads a week, so it really shouldn’t be a big deal at all for me to get everything done. So I start a nice Saturday or Sunday morning with a load of Jake’s and Doodle’s clothes in the wash. If I at least get those done, Jake will have nice clean clothes to get him through the work week, and Doodle won’t look like a homeless child or stay in pajamas all day everyday, right? So I get those washed, and with my motivation in full swing I throw them in the dryer and get my clothes and the towels started in the wash. Then, I don’t know, I guess I just forget. I forget that the guys’ clothes need to be put away, forget that mine need to be dried, just forget that I was ever even doing laundry in the first place.
I can’t count the amount of times that I fluff those darn clothes in the dryer so that Jake doesn’t go to work looking like he slept in the car. Each time I figure I’ll be able to get everything out and put away. Then I remember that I’m still wearing my pajamas and I realize it’s because my clothes have been sitting in the washer this whole time. Oh man! So then I restart the washer, throw another All Small and Mighty pack in there, and hope that I remember to finish my clothes. This happens every other week or so. Seriously, I don’t understand why I can’t just do my freaking laundry when I set out to do it!
Now, we’re not altogether “messy” people. I mean, Doodle’s really good about putting away his toys and books most of the time, and we don’t really accumulate things in our living areas, so it’s never really needing to be picked up or anything, but I think that having a dog is really bad for my vacuuming. She doesn’t shed a lot, and we don’t track a lot or dirt or debris in or anything, but we do have a two-year-old. Food gets thrown, drinks get spilled, stuff happens. But my goodness, if it’s edible, there’s Ash, perfectly happy to clean up the mess. So I don’t really see too much food particle stuff on the floor, what may remain kind of just blends into the carpet. Until, of course, I get down to wrestle with Doodle on the floor and realize what I’ve been terribly neglecting… Then I remember to vacuum about two or three days later… Oops…
So, other than the occasional meal that I throw together for my hubby and the breathing child there to greet him when he gets home, I’m not really sure what he thinks I do all day while he works. I mean, I do something, right? Somehow I’m exhausted at the end of the day. Somehow I’m ecstatic on his days off so I can have some help. But what is it that’s wearing me out? What do I need help for? What do I actually do? And why is he ok with me doing it while he’s the only one “working”?