For those of you who are friends of mine and have already heard my tirade, forgive me. For everyone else, here’s the deal – my husband is all about minimalism, and me, well I’m all about efficiency. All you mothers out there can no doubt relate – time is at a premium, and efficiency affords me more time.
You know what isn’t efficient? Grocery shopping.
Seriously, it’s the only time that I touch the same thing about 6 times before it ends up getting to where it needs to be, in this case my pantry. Let’s break this down, shall we?
(1) So I pick up cereal to put in my cart with the rest of my groceries, then (2) I put the same cereal on the conveyor belt to be scanned, then (3) I put the bag (with the cereal in it) into my cart. Then I push the cart to my car and (4) grab the bag with the cereal and put it into my car, then I drive home and (5) grab the cereal bag again and take it into my house. Then I (6) take the cereal box out of the bag and I put it on the counter (so inefficient, right? – I should just put it in the pantry, but I don’t). Then (7) I put the cereal box into my pantry where it belongs.
Inefficiency at its finest – and that, my friends, is why I’m completely useless the rest of the day after grocery shopping. Seriously, nothing depletes me faster (physically and mentally) then to aimlessly perpetrate the same repetitive motion without any results.
Speaking of repetition without results, let’s talk about my husband. He and I don’t communicate well. It’s a well known fact. We actually both joke that we ended up married as a misunderstanding, we both laugh, but there might be a little bit of truth there.
Case in point, we were driving around the other day looking for a new house/land, and just as we were approaching a realtor sign, this is what unfolds. . .
H: “Do you have the number?”
M: “No, I don’t, but there’s a realtor sign ahead, I’m sure the number is on it.”
H: “Why aren’t you writing the number down?!”
M: “It’s right in front of you! I don’t know why you need me to write it down. Just call it.”
H: “Obviously I can’t call it with the kids being loud in the car. I don’t know what your problem is! I simply asked you to write down the phone number. Geez”
So now I’m pissed . . .
M: “My problem?! Are you kidding me? I’ll tell you what my problem is, how about the fact that you didn’t ask me to write down the phone number. You asked me if I had the phone number. Those are two very different questions. If you had asked me to write down the phone number in the first place, we wouldn’t be having this problem. But that’s not the question you asked, you asked me if I had it, and I don’t. And quite frankly, that’s a stupid question to ask when the sign with the phone number on it is right in front of you.”
So frustrating. It’s times like these that I can’t wait for him to go on a business trip. so I can have time to center myself, and refocus. It was during one of those trips that I became conscious of the fact that I treat them as if he’s still in the military (minus the imminent possibility of death issue). And by that, I mean that I do whatever I want, whenever I want, well . . . . . mostly anyway.
I still have to take the kids to school, clean the house, and do laundry (you know, the normal stuff), but I can cut chenille in his garage and make a big fuzzy mess, and then I can leave it to clean another day – hypothetically, of course. And I can eat dinner at 5 p.m. because I like eating early, and I can play music in the house and push repeat as many times as I want, and I can thoughtfully ponder all of the useful ways that I could use a chalkboard easel without him scowling over my shoulder at my online shopping cart.
And even better, I can make executive decisions, without accountability to anyone else. Like whipping out my supermom cape (figuratively, unfortunately) and climbing up the ladder to the attic to retrieve the rocking horse that he made when the kids were little, but refuses to get down for me. He put it up there because the kids were starting to wear it out. Well, the youngest had never seen it, and I’ve been bummed for awhile that she never had the chance, so rather than let that turn into regret, I faced my fear of heights while walking (one foot at a time) across a sparse five inch wide space to get to the horse and see my dreams realized.
And here’s the horse I risked life and limb to get. . .he’s cute right? The husband made him – it’s one of his hidden talents.
Oh, and I got to plant the flowers that I like, and the herbs that I wanted, and I got to opt out of taking his dogs on a walk and give the kids an early bath (a result of the no dog walking). I picked out the dirt mat for the front porch without listening to his opinion, and I decided to hire someone to spray the weeds in my yard.
See, I have no problem making decisions by myself, it’s sharing that responsibility that I have problems with. Sigh.
Here are the dogs – you can see why I don’t want to walk them, right (I mean, aside from the fact that they walked me into some tree branches the last time)? See that piece of wood in the upper left corner? That was part of my garden, they think it’s a stick.
Next post will have a recipe, promise!