I'm a pretty big fan of my husband/life partner/baby daddy/boyfriend/roommate. He has many great qualities that I don't feel the need to numerate here, for a couple of reasons.
(1) Saying nice things about your partner/spouse is not very interesting to anyone else. (Although you should say nice things to them. I recommend that practice.)
(2) Saying nice things about your partner/spouse online is kind of a red flag for "relationship drama!" (This is somewhat connected to the theory that the number of times you post on Facebook that you are SO BLESSED or "Loving life!" corresponds to the number of times you are verging on some kind of self-imposed life crisis like secret binge-drinking or posting cleavage-heavy selfies or confronting the person you think maybe your partner is cheating on you with.)
Anyway, as much as I love him (and that's all we'll say about that), there are three things about him that make me crazy.
(He knows these things and could name them himself if asked, so I don't think he will feel threatened or offended by my listing them here. Though if my next blog post is titled "SO BLESSED" you'll know that I miscalculated and am self-destructing.)
(1) He's pretty anal-retentive about clutter, about watermarks on the countertop (if you don't dry it thoroughly after you wipe it off with a wet cloth), and about the number of shoes allowed to live by the back door, (and seems to not understand the concept that books are not clutter, even when they are piled precariously on shelves and end tables). (Books are magically not clutter because they are both highly functional and highly decorative, as far as I'm concerned).
I think we both try really hard to compromise on this issue, but even so, it occasionally becomes a source of conflict, especially if we're actually tired/stressed about something else.
The other day, the girls were fussing or I was in a hurry to do something else, and I shoved a hand towel haphazardly onto the stove handle as I rushed out of the kitchen. David was like, *dramatic sigh of the long-suffering spouse* "Couldn't you just take a second to fix that?" I'm sure he was probably wondering how he could ever have married someone who so clearly does not give a shit about symmetry and tidiness in regard to hand towels hanging on ovens.
It had been a long, busy day (as they all are) and, in my mind, this was going a step too far. I just helped clean the entire kitchen. A towel askew in a clean kitchen is still a clean kitchen as far as I'm concerned.
I stared at him, and then said, "Really? Really? You want to pick a fight with me about this? THIS is where you want to make your stand? Then what? You want me to organize all the canned goods so they are alphabetical and the labels are facing out? Are we entering Sleeping With the Enemy territory here?"
He let it go, perhaps because of the rising hysteria in my voice (NOT an overreaction, really--you have to nip the crazy in the bud), but mostly I think because he actually would like all the canned goods to be organized and alphabetized and if you give a mouse a cookie, you just might end up Sleeping With the Enemy.
(2) The only kind of music he listens to is classic country or some new variation/interpretation of the classic country sound, with a small exception for Glen Hansard. He seriously listens to NOTHING ELSE.
Let me be the first to say, my own knowledge of music is nothing much. Frankly, the last time I knew anything about cool music was in college, or maybe grad school, when I relied on friends to tell me what was cool, and had more time to keep up with it. Now I rely on NPR to tell me what is cool, which is obviously the OPPOSITE of cool, but I like to think that maybe it's so uncool that it's cool, in a kind of ironic way? (Or maybe I'm just running to middle age with open arms. Whatever.)
But, David can't tell Pink Floyd from the Beatles and I am NOT exaggerating. He couldn't care less. He does not want to broaden his horizons or have a basic appreciation for music. He wouldn't listen to Pink Floyd or the Beatles anyway. Play some George Jones and shut up about anything else. I'm not even joking.
(3) He doesn't like breakfast for dinner. I KNOW. I'm not sure how this is even possible, because he likes breakfast for breakfast and breakfast for dinner is exactly the same except better. But David doesn't like it. It feels messy and wrong and out of order to him. (See "anal" under #1). (Speaking of #1, a friend of mine who teaches chemistry was telling me that she put numbers up on the board like that when giving students lab instructions and a student asked her what the hashtag was for. Lolololohmercy.)
David makes an awesome omelette, and he has made me an omelette for dinner exactly twice, both times when I was pregnant and he felt like he should cater to my whims. But he made himself something else to eat for dinner both times. Insanity!
So that's it. I'm not saying I would change these things about him. I'm just saying that these are qualities that both endear him to me and drive me batshit crazy. (And I'm very aware he could compile a much longer list about me!)
So this week, I'm really keeping a handle on the clutter, but we're not playing any country music around here. We are definitely missing David, and staying busy with our regular routine. I'm feeling proud of myself for keeping things together. At the very least everyone is getting where they need to go mostly on time and we're all fed and clothed.
Tonight, instead of pouting about David not being home to help with the dinner time madness, I took advantage of his absence from the kitchen to get crazy. At 5:30pm, I put on pop radio (!) and I scrambled up some eggs (!) and I microwaved some frozen silver dollar pancakes, and cut up a kiwi, and spooned up some yogurt (the girls and I are all straight up obsessed with honey-flavored Greek yogurt--do yourself a favor and put it on your shopping list now) and we had breakfast for dinner. It was delicious.
It tasted even better than it does at breakfast time.
So, that was a great treat, but I'll be the first to say that an even better treat is having David home to do the cooking, classic country soundtrack included.
He's worth straightening hand towels for, really.