The picture isn’t Wayne, I just thought it was funny…
Life is H E Double Hockey Sticks!
I’m a work-from-home/stay-at-home wife and pet parent. I have been for about eight years now. It was a big adjustment for both Wayne and I in the beginning. I had always been a working woman, was raised to be such, and had never planned on becoming “the woman of the house.” But when Wayne and I moved from Phoenix to Jacksonville –a move I didn’t want to make–Wayne enticed (a.k.a. bribed) me with the prospect of fulfilling my lifelong dream. The deal: I could stay home and try my hand at becoming a writer.
Great!
Except, the other part of that deal was that all things domestic, save for yard work, were also going to become my responsibility. (When I worked we split most household chores, financial duties, etc.) Gulp. I was the girl who barely passed Home Ec in middle school.
Yet, somehow I traversed the treacherous and (at that time) unknown world of domesticity to become, if not adept, at least competent in running and managing everything from household finances to meal planning. To the point that now I consider it my domain and Wayne’s trespassing on my turf if he tries to do certain tasks.
Which he does (trespasses, that is) when he’s had a bad day at work. Which is sometimes quite often.
See, he has a stressful job. He performs merger and acquisition due diligence for a public accounting firm. On top of frequent travel, he also puts in incredible hours, including numerous late nights and most weekends. (This is about to come to an end. All part of the reason we’re moving.)
When things are out of control there, he tries to exert it elsewhere. Like by straightening piles of mail I had been meaning to get to. Or cleaning the bathroom mirror. (Which he doesn’t really clean. He wipes it with a wet towel, creating lint-laden smears that guess who has to go back and clean up.) Or, worse, he tackles the dishes.
I try to be extremely sensitive when he’s stressed. I used to take his interferences personally and as a comment on my less-than-stellar housekeeping abilities. I also used to try and make it better, but quickly realized I couldn’t. Now I know when he’s in a stress-induced bad mood, short of staying away from him there’s not much I can do to help except let him interfere. The only trouble is, dishes cross my boundary.
I am very particular how I load dishes in the dishwasher because I have a certain system for unloading them. Similarly, I know where everything goes when it’s to be put away. Wayne throws things helter skelter and I wind up hunting for dishes, containers, and utensils.
However, I try very hard not to blow up when he crosses this line. Instead I try to make light of it by asking questions like:
“If you’re looking for something to clean, the toilets always need scrubbing.”
Or
“If you really want to do something involving dishes, cook dinner.”
Sounds silly but this usually provokes a smile. Why? In all of our 17 years living together, Wayne’s never, ever cleaned a single toilet. And as for cooking? He might know what ingredients go in what dishes, but he’s a one-heat setting kind of cook. Translation: high heat = burned food –every time! (And neither of us wants to scrub burned pots and pans, on this we agree.)
Courtney Mroch is a regular contributor to the Pets Blog. Read more of her blogs here.
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