My Husband Cleans, and That's a Problem

I know.  We've all got 99 problems, but a husband who cleans 'aint one.

Except for me, it is.  And not a problem in an "I've got to change this, I won't stand for it" type of way.  I'm not stupid.  I realize when I've been handed a precious gift.  Its a problem in a "Mariah has issues she has to overcome by the grace of God" type of way.  In a "My husband nearly lost his head today" sort of way.

This picture has nothing to do with this story, except that it also occurred today.
And yes, it was this amazing.

Let me explain.

About a month ago, Handsome decided that he wanted to have a cleaner house, and he was going to do something about it.  This change was motivated by many things, notably RG's impending mobility, and the desire to model responsible, adult behavior for our bambina.  Good things, really.  And he was serious about his willingness to do the cleaning.

I should be thrilled.  And part of me is thrilled.  Its really nice that he does the dishes, and knows where the vacuum (one "c", two "u"'s, in case you have trouble with that word, too) cleaner is kept.  The problem was that I had trouble listening to him say "I am going to keep the kitchen more clean" and not hearing "You don't keep the kitchen clean enough".  It wasn't what he was saying, and it wasn't implied, but it was heard, all the same.

Poor guy, he thinks I'm loony and wanted to know why I kept twisting the things he said around into something negative.  This all came to a head today, when he asked me, as though it were a new idea, if I could maybe, after Riley was done playing with her toys, pick them back up.  I nearly came. un. glued.  And my thought process was 100% defensive, 100% prideful, and 100% wrong.  I actually went through the stages of grieving, for some weird reason.

Denial:

"Oh no.  OH NO HE DI'NT.  He is not coming up in here and telling me my business.  Is he telling me how to keep house?  Seriously?  No.  No way.  This isn't happening."

Anger:

"Like I don't do that already?  Like I don't pick up after her?  I mean, seriously, I didn't do it this morning, but for the past 9 months I've been picking up after her, and for the past 5 years I've been picking up after him, and if he thinks he's going to pass judgement ON ME..."

Bargaining:

"Well, if he thinks he can say these things about me, I'm going to unload on him where I think he's failing.  That's right.  I might not have picked up after RG this morning, but he left his pants in the bathroom..."

Depression:

"I can't believe he'd says something so hurtful.  Why doesn't he appreciate what I do?  Does he think its easy, being basically a single parent over 50% of the time?  Why is he so mean?  My life is so hard, and he doesn't care."

Surviving December

It seems lately that every other blog post I read is about somebody having a handful of hectic days, the lovely mixed in with the chaos, and surviving it.  I thought you all should know, I'm surviving it too.  The lovely, the chaotic, the busy, the tired, the mess... it's wonderful and exhausting and, best of all, survivable.  I think it's something to do with this time of year, the mix of beauty and difficulty.  But always survivable.

This picture is from when we went out for Handsome's birthday dinner.
It was a great time.
As an aside: I lack the capability to wear a decorative scarf.
Totally can't pull it off.
Don't try and help either, I'm beyond even wanting to learn.

Believe you me, I'm going to need December to be survivable.  That wicked handsome husband of mine?  He's got his work cut out for him this month.  Hours upon hours of clinicals, rounding out an already full-to-the-brim schedule.  Oh, and all in the first 20 days of the month, since we're planning to tempt fate/trust the Almighty, whatever you want to call it, and drive 650 north when I'm 34 weeks pregnant.  And then 650 miles south when I'm 35 weeks.  Because that's how we roll.  We have to take my car, though, as the Hubs has decreed that I will not go into labor in his truck.  He will deposit me in the snow beside the road if he has to, but I will not give birth in his precious truck.  Maybe on the tailgate; that is still up for debate.

Oh, and speaking of my handsome husband... well, he's looking a little cartoonish these days.  See, the 'stache is back, much to my chagrin, and he looks... I won't scandalize you with an actual photo, but here's one that someone drew of him...

via

Staying Thankful

Yay, Thanksgiving, let's all be grateful and remember all the good things we have.  Yay, day-after-thanksgiving, let's all reminisce over the great thanksgiving we just had, and feel content with out families and good times.  Yay, day-after-day-after thanksgiving, let's finish up those left-overs and clean the house, finding random toys hidden and laughing over the great time we had.

Leftover Pie.
You just throw everything from dinner into it.
My Grandma Peg would be so proud

Now we're on the day-after-day-after-day-after-day-after-Thanksgiving.  It's raining.  There are flood watches in our area, actually.  My sister and BIL and their kiddos got to our house at 4:30 this morning.  We all passed out by 5:30, and then I was up and out of the house before 8.  Leaving my loved ones at my house.  And they're going to be gone before I get back.  So I kissed a few chubby, sleeping cheeks this morning, poured a large Hot-coffe-latte, and left before I started crying.