Clean Sweep
I got three days off at work in a row. I am getting to spend them taking care of my wee one while she is fighting her first cold. She is a trooper, though. Minimal whining and she already has that “Don’t Touch Me” body language down to an art. She is ready to be sickly in this house.
Whatever she has, Adam and I have, but to a lesser degree. We don’t sound nearly as bad and we have mastered blowing our nose, so the snot factor is WAY down. Because I have pussy lungs, I have cough, but I can’t do anything without getting a cough. Thanks, Asthma, you bastard!
Mercifully Mazzy is sleeping peacefully in her crib. I should be doing the same, but I can’t seem to make myself. My brain is whirling with all of the stuff I am not doing. I am looking forward to having my brother-in-law’s stuff out of the downstairs living room. I won’t feel like there is so much to be done once the living room is in order, again. We are nearly Spartan in our decorating, so once the house is clean, it isn’t much to sweep through after work at night and pick things up. I am lucky that my husband spends a lot of his energy on keeping the house clean. I would be completely overwhelmed. It is like we both measure our personal happiness on how clean the house is. You can almost always gauge whether we are going to fight on whether, or not, the kitchen is clean. It is gross, but once we figured that out, a lot of our problems have lessened.
Along the same line, because there is nothing but piles of crap on our living room floor, what should be a peaceful time in my marriage is tense and snippy. We are snarling at one another for NO REASON. Well, except that our house isn’t clean. And my brother-in-law keeps calling us “Cleaning Dictators.” To that I would like to respond, “Pick up a sock, damn you!”
Whatever she has, Adam and I have, but to a lesser degree. We don’t sound nearly as bad and we have mastered blowing our nose, so the snot factor is WAY down. Because I have pussy lungs, I have cough, but I can’t do anything without getting a cough. Thanks, Asthma, you bastard!
Mercifully Mazzy is sleeping peacefully in her crib. I should be doing the same, but I can’t seem to make myself. My brain is whirling with all of the stuff I am not doing. I am looking forward to having my brother-in-law’s stuff out of the downstairs living room. I won’t feel like there is so much to be done once the living room is in order, again. We are nearly Spartan in our decorating, so once the house is clean, it isn’t much to sweep through after work at night and pick things up. I am lucky that my husband spends a lot of his energy on keeping the house clean. I would be completely overwhelmed. It is like we both measure our personal happiness on how clean the house is. You can almost always gauge whether we are going to fight on whether, or not, the kitchen is clean. It is gross, but once we figured that out, a lot of our problems have lessened.
Along the same line, because there is nothing but piles of crap on our living room floor, what should be a peaceful time in my marriage is tense and snippy. We are snarling at one another for NO REASON. Well, except that our house isn’t clean. And my brother-in-law keeps calling us “Cleaning Dictators.” To that I would like to respond, “Pick up a sock, damn you!”
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