This week has been particularly trying on us. Mr W had a busy week at work last week, in such a way that it spilled into this week. Audrey has turned into a raging insomniac, and she comes into our bed all night long.
Letting her stay with us is only half a solution, though. I mean, we have a huge bed, and when the boys were small, they certainly slept with us a lot, but with Audrey it's different...because sleeping with her is a contact sport. Watch out nose, watch out toes, watch out--well, you get the picture.
On the bright side, I've been sneaking in a nap. Or, rather, passing out in the late afternoon because I just can't go on.
The last time it happened, I was reading to Ryan. Reading! I fell asleep while reading out loud, how sad is that?
Where was I? Oh.
Mr W has been busy. Busy enough that he is in the use-it-or-lose-it category for vacation time. He took Wednesday off, and is home today.
Wednesday morning, we had no sooner gotten the boys off to school when the hissing began. I was cranky. I made some comment to Audrey about how I didn't want to watch tv with her, I wanted a nap.
"You want a nap?"
Oh, great. Now we're going to get into the age-old argument, your-sleep-is-much-better-than-my-sleep-therefore-I-deserve-to-sleep-now. The argument where I offer an understanding wifey-nod and pat his back as he heads down the hallway. I hate to let regular stuff turn into a pissing match, so a lot of the times, I shrug and let it go. And hiss later, when he's rested and feeling guilty.
But not today.
So no one slept, and Mr W decided to open up another can of worms. He took started rooting around in the broom closet.
Great. He's gonna start cleaning. <Aw, man, go back to bed. I'll go get some coffee, you win.>
Now, most women would say they like it when hubby pitches in, and should he pick up a cleaning implement, hallelujah; but not me. (Unless it's laundry, he rocks at laundry. :D)
Because when my husband does it, he does it with an air of moral superiority, an air of "If I don't take the helm of this UNTIDY ship, it will surely crash on the shores of Pigdom and we will remain there for all of eternity."
Huffily, he moves things around. And he doesn't know I intended to do the floors this morning, nor will he believe me at this point. <I have to admit, they're pretty bad.> "I have to vacuum," I tell him, as I hear him get the broom out.
Next thing I know, he's vacuuming our bedroom. I'd be happier if he wasn't so desde about it. I try to make peace. I go down the hall, knock on the door, and pleasantly ask him if he's hungry, fully prepared to offer pancakes. He scoffs when I ask, and tells me "I'm trying to get this clean."
Oh, really? Did I miss something, like the ingestion of an a**hole pill?
So now I calculate my options. 1) Should've gone to work like I'd originally planned, 2) pack up the laptop, head to Starbucks, 3) help out by sweeping the floors elsewhere.
I grab the broom and start sweeping, because I don't want it to look like I'm not doing my part. Sigh.
Mr W finishes up our room, and moves on to the front room. I make our bed, sweep and mop. He comes up to me and hugs me, and at the exact same moment as I grab his ass, he asks, "what are we doing today?" so we both crack up.
"You know, if we stay home, I'm just gonna get ornery."
I contemplate sparkling light fixtures vs. leaving the house, and offer up going to the mall, or a movie, or just OUT.
But not before an attitude adjustment.
The light fixtures weren't sparkling, but the smile on his face lit up the room.
No pancakes required.