Wow, you know. There are a few times when being a woman has its challenges. I think my least favorite of these is around a certain time of the month when an Oreo seems to have mystical powers. Like an oracle. Only smaller. And chocolatey. And edible.
For those of you who are squeamish or don’t particularly care for “woman talk” then this post is not for you. I recommend that you immediately stop reading and go look at pictures elsewhere, or turn on ESPN and maybe scratch your nuts a few times, you know, just for the sake of manhood. I won’t be offended that you didn’t read. Really.
I can usually tell when I’m going to have my monthly gift from Mother Nature a few days ahead of time. First of all, because Honey Smacks become increasingly attractive. Then, there’s the Allstate Insurance commercial on TV – with the family standing in front of the house (*sniff, sniff*) and they look so joyous with their little puppy yipping and running happily in the green, lush grass. The family CLEARLY has no kind of emotional baggage whatsoever, the children are obviously well adjusted and of course are star students in their award-winning school. You can really tell that the man and wife have a healthy and happy relationship. It’s my most favorite commercial of all time …
Ok. So *sniff, sniff* what was I saying?
Oh yes. I can generally tell when Ruby will be visiting because my view of the world changes a bit. Logic pretty much takes a back seat and Ms. Drama Needy Emotion enjoys unmitigated access to my mental state. During this time, my behaviors are totally funkified, my eyes tend to leak a lot more and my self control is all of naught.
This brings me to my overly dramatic issue at hand. As you know, dear readers, I naturally tend to be a bit domestically challenged. Household duties are not my strength. I mean — don’t get me wrong, I’m not totally without redeeming domestic qualities. Like … I am a great cook, but as I like to say, when I finish cooking or baking, it looks like someone picked up the kitchen, shook it, and put it back down.
My husband has really picked up the slack there. I mean — I rarely clean. I do the dishes and such (sometimes), of course, put loads of laundry in (sometimes). Take care of the kids and make sure they’re fed and clothed and hugged and such. I pick up those freaking small toys that jab into your foot when you’re running to the baby’s room in the middle of the night because she’s using her “I’m scared” cry. I mean well; I even start well. I am an excellent chore STARTER, I’m just not a great chore finisher. I get distracted easily, not because I get distracted easily, but because I WANT to get distracted easily, I am pretty sure.
And I’m anal. It’s ridiculous. My friend came over yesterday — I was showing her how to make crepes. That was the deal. I was going to show her how to make them (they are super easy to make, btw), and then we were just going to hang out and talk and just have some girlfriend time.
Within about 10 minutes, she was directing traffic, folding clothes, and we ended up putting the crepes aside so we could pick up a bit. She helped me sort the clothes and was flabbergasted at my sorting method, which involves separating towels into certain stacks, and the colors into different stacks based on how they are put away (shirts are hung, some clothes don’t go in the dryer, some are little, some are big, etc.). Laughing, she said something like, “No WONDER you can’t get anything done!” And then she proceeded to show me her method, (much simpler) and I had to bite my anal tongue and make some concessions and it was worth it. Her methods really did make a difference. Things went much faster after I got out of the way.
Anyway, so, basically, whatever we did, she showed me an easier, seemingly common sense-filled method that was much faster and more efficient. FINALLY, after what seemed like an eternity of cleaning, with me saying, “WHY! Why do we have to do this now, can’t we just eat crepes?!! I’m tired, I don’t wanna clean anymore!” every so often, the house was looking pretty good and it was time to make crepes.
Long story short, even though it felt like a lot longer, we only cleaned for like two and a half hours and in that time we got more done than I would normally get done in a week. She was unbelievably patient. You know that you have a true friend when she puts up with THAT for two and a half hours and still wants to be your friend.
One of the things that helped me though — to not turn into a walking incarnation of Mommy Dearest, was thinking how happy my husband would be to come home and actually SEE the loveseat because it wasn’t covered in clean clothes waiting to be folded (which he always ends up folding and putting away because it takes me forever).
I was thinking how happy he would be to come home and not feel like the mess was taking over our home. So he wouldn’t feel like he as to gently ask me “Please, honey, can you clean just ONE thing tomorrow? Maybe? Just one thing?”
So… of course, The Chick Switch (in it’s full upright position) had this whole scenario built up in my head. When he got home to see dinner made, the house picked up (and vacuumed, even) and to realize that we actually still owned a love seat, then he would be SO appreciative that he would want to tell me how amazing I am, sweep me into the bedroom and ravish me until we are breathless.
So, when he got home two hours late in not a great mood, and I didn’t get to go work out, and he didn’t really notice that anything was different and he didn’t really say much about dinner, I pretty much caved in emotionally.
Logic. Gone. I know I can’t expect him to come home and take the script I wrote in my head and follow it. That’s dumb. Really. Stupid. Seriously? But. Like I said, Ms. Drama Needy Emotion was driving. No holds barred here.
Logic was yelling from the back seat. “Listen Jenn! Don’t be a JERK! He was at work for 15 hours today and you just need to enjoy the feeling of getting that stuff done and stop being so stinkin’ high maintenance. Look, see? The kids think we got a new couch, look how happy they are?!!!!”
So. I bit my tongue, and smiled and just loved him. To show him the respect that he totally deserves after working hard all day and to not get all butt hurt about him not acknowledging my efforts. That felt pretty good.
I listened to Logic. Small victories. But I still want Oreos.