I’m a fairly clean person. And, although I pride myself on squeaky clean bits’n pieces, it is not of a hygienic nature that I am speaking today.
I’m a bit “Type A” when it comes to keeping my house neat and tidy. I’m not so much concerned with the nooks and crannies as I am making sure that at first glance, things look put in their place. And, as I’m sure you’re already aware, I have a 7 year-old daughter and a 3 year-old son who, I feel, have been placed here as cohorts to some super-spy conglomerate who’s sole mission is to determine the point in time at which the mixture of teensy lego pieces stuck to the bottoms of my socks, Barbie cars placed throughout the house in precarious ankle-breaking positions and Pop Tart edges glued to the remote control will cause me to spontaneously implode (or explode, obviously whichever is more dramatic.) To simplify it: my kids are trying various methods to drive me cuckoo. And they’re getting close.
That all being said, there have been places in my house that have been grossly neglected. If it can be shut behind a door it has most likely been thrown to the wayside until I am ready to fully deal with the disorder. I have had to come to terms with the fact that my “super-spy” children take up 23 1/2 of my 24 allotted hours on a daily basis, and therefore, some things have to be pushed to the back burner. And I was 100% certain that Jer supported me in this belief.
Apparently, I was wrong.
Have you ever sent your husband to Costco for milk and contact solution and he comes home with milk, eye drops (hey…he thought you meant eye drops) and a set of 15 plastic organizational shoeboxes? Well, I have.
Jer decided he simply had to “do something” about the pantry. He couldn’t stand the mishmash of Kellogg’s cereal boxes and antacid tablets. And I will admit, the pantry is a wasteland. It’s four shelves containing anything from cookbooks to cough syrup to Swiss Cake Rolls (these being a problem entirely unto themselves, but I won’t get into that.) And, I kind of agree with Jer that it’s a hot mess. But. As I mentioned before, I’m a busy lady. And as far as Jer having a huge opinion on the matter, the dude has zero credibility in the “clean and orderly” department. His monstrosity, also known as the garage, has a reputation for swallowing household items and could qualify as a front runner for any episode of “How Clean Is Your House?”. The dude really has no room to preach.
So, basically, here’s my “disorderly” husband attempting to school me on previously unrealized organizational opportunities. In my kitchen. My ‘hood.
Jer spent approximately 3 hours moving various sundries and dry goods into plastic shoeboxes, throwing an occasional smirk my way. There was groaning and tsking and verbal disdain. There was sweating and cursing and a whole lot of flying cardboard.
It was painful. And oddly, kind of sexy.
And, when it was all said and done, as if to pour salt in my already festering wound, Jer brought me into the kitchen for a formal tour of my new pantry.
“And this and this go here…blah…blah…blah…pfft…pfft…pfft.” I managed to tune out most of what he said until I heard the following statement.
“Do you think you can keep it like this?”
Oh no he di int!
But, yes. He did.
“Um, Jer. Are you seriously asking me if I can handle maintaining the pantry?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I am. This took me a lot of time. I don’t want it messed back up.”
People. I could barely look at him with a straight face. I could have began a lengthy explanation of how I clean things daily that get ‘messed back up’ without a backward glance. I could have reminded him that he still hasn’t cleared off his desk which has so many dishes piled up it could double as a restaurant pass-through. I could have gone into numerous pending grievances.
But I didn’t.
I looked at his hardwork, displayed proudly and prominently by macaroni-filled shoeboxes lining the shelving and then I looked at his face, expectantly looking back at me.
And I answered, “Sure, babe. I’ll do my best.”
There’s still empty shoeboxes left, waiting to organize some other part of my home. I noticed Jer eyeing my makeup drawer today. This could get ugly, folks.