Most of the time John & I remind me of Jack Sprat and his Wife-- our idiosyncrasies compliment one another and we end up with a clean plate....domestic bliss. Occasionally, our differences lead to domestic deabacles.
if John were a better FINDER of articles....
and I were a better PROVIDER of storage containers for said articles, the following scenario might of ended differently.
John was taking our oldest to basketball practice and our youngest wanted to go. After a day home with me (preschool closed) I wanted our youngest to go with his Daddy.
"Honey, he wants to go with you to her practice" I said in the presence of my youngest, mercilessly unveiling hubby's intended destination.
He throws me a glare. A really good one....NOT the best one I've ever seen....but hold on sister.
Having planted the seed that sweet boy would be going with his Daddy, I turned my efforts to the embarrassment that was my kitchen sink. Before I could comment and make my own excuses for the unexcusable mess in the sink my husband, still smarting from being forced to take sweet boy to basketball, walks over to deliver his plate to the sink, and says to my daughter's friend "Like our dishes, Lindy?" We all kinda laughed....
Ok. I failed miserably at the dishes today. Further, I have not enjoyed my day at-home. I accomplished NO household tasks. And, I put the blame squarely on the shoulders of my sweet, precious, very busy son.
"You know, he won't watch tv," I say casually to my daughter and her friend as they eat their dinner. "Nope." I continued, "He's just not interested in television and I just, well, I just can't get anything done while he's home." At this precise moment he scoots into the kitchen singing, "hotdog hotdog hot diggity-dog" possibly because they are eating hot dogs. "Well" my daugther's friends says kindly, "he knows that song so maybe...."
"Oh yea, he will watch Mickey," I say as I do the dishes. "He loves Mickey" my daughter declares "he watches it all the time." "AND the Berenstain Bears and Caillou," she continues. Okay must I be made out to be a liar in my own kitchen? Whereupon, hubby walks into the kitchen and conversation...."Now, he never watches those shows for more than five minutes...." Thank God for Daddy....I suspect he's embarrassed by the pile of dirty dishes also, and he's chiming in to reinforce my excuses on why the dishes haven't been cleaned.....except they aren't excuses, it's just impossible to get anything accomplished with a 3 year-old underfoot.
As I continue to clean dishes, John is getting ready to take the girls to practice. "Son, if you're going with me, you gotta have shoes." The boy could only find ONE tennis shoe.
"Girls, where was he?" I ask quickly, getting nervous that my plan to send the boy to basketball practice was unraveling. My husband goes upstairs and stomps down the stairs--no shoe. Shakes his head. Somehow I've failed again, I think to myself? Because we can't find the f-ing shoe? I look around in the den. Our son is crying big alligator tears, "He gonna weave me Mama." "No honey he's not." I reassure my son.
If that sob leaves this him....I swear...where IS that damn shoe, I think.
As I look around my house--I see lots of piles. A laundry basket turned over--some child wildly trying to find underwear. When I go to my bathroom, I see a basket of pairless socks. Too much stuff in the house. I know this. "Then WHY do you keep buying?" I hear my husband's voice in my mind. In my mind I respond---Because they're growing, that's WHY I buy.
I set-out to find the shoe. I must. I need a couple of hours alone.
I know it is NOT where it should be...by the back door. Yes, we have baskets for the kids to put their shoes in, but they are PILED with shoes....nobody can find a damn thing in those baskets.
The boy is crying....John goes out to start the car....
I hurry upstairs...there is NO way that child is not going with his Daddy. And for my own sanity. I walk into my daughter's room. Church clothes from yesterday on the floor. I pick up her skirt and lo-and-behold THE SHOE. Some "looker" he is!
I march down the stairs. "I've got it....here it is" I yell to John and my boy. As I walk to the backdoor, and triumphantly hand over the shoe I tell my husband, "All you had to do was pick up the skirt. It was right there--underneath." Heavy silence. More silence.
Then I get it.....THE GLARE.
"What?" "WHAT did you just say to me?" He asks in a choppy, unhappy tone.
"The shoe. It was under the skirt." I say casually, looking him square in the eye, arms folded across my chest.
I'm pushing him and I know it....but well, do I have to find everything? The shoe was right there under the skirt. Heaven forbid he bend down and move an article of clothing.
"I can't believe you would say that to me." THE GLARE is in full-force. And I must say, I'm making light but it's kinda scary. My husband's glare could make a grown man run. Of course, my husband is NOT a bully, so I am not scared in the way a grown man would or should be, and I do not run.
I stand my ground and accept the GLARE.
I'm scared only that my words have caused unnecessary hurt between us.
Of course.....had he been better at LOOKING for the shoe....
And of course....if I were better at de-cluttering and providing a PLACE for the shoe...
Well, I suppose we wouldn't be ourselves but it's something for us to consider.
Most of the time our idiosyncrasies compliment one another.....
you know like Jack Sprat & his Wife!