Dishwasher - Half-Full or Half-Empty?

My New Communication Approach- Flow Charts

Earlier this week, I asked Hans to empty and fill the dishwasher while I put Gigi to sleep. As usual he told me he would "do it later."

I decided to choose my battles and let it go. I also decided that I would not remind Hans of his promise to "do it later," as I often do. Some may call this nagging, but I call it a necessity because Hans has hopeless ADD and literally forgets everything. It is not at all annoying. But reminding him gives him the out to say "Jeez, I am going to do it, stop nagging me," which leaves me with nary a leg to stand on!

Out of Sight - Out of my Mind

Many thanks to my sister for reminding me to share one of the most classic Hans stories of all time.

Hans is a computer guy. He is also a hoarder, messer, leave things all over the place-er.

When we lived in our first apartment, we would go many rounds about the cords, hard drives and memory sticks that covered every surface of our house. The kitchen table, the counter, the coffee table, the sofa- literally everything.

One day, I handed Hans some computer thing that had been sitting on the kitchen table for over a week. I didn't know what it was all I knew was that I had seen it enough and it needed to go someplace else. I handed it to him and said,

"Please go put this away, right now."

Everything IN the Kitchen Sink.....or the Bathroom Sink

Hans is absolutely adamant that he does not make a mess at our house. He thinks I am the messy one, and while I am not a clean freak (although lately I have started to become one thanks to a cocktail of vitamins and going to sleep at 8 pm) I am not the messer, simply because I clean up after myself these days. Whenever I complain about how he leaves stuff everyplace and never throws anything away (but rather leaves it on the counter next to the trash can) the ONLY things Hans has to throw back at me, is that I hang my purse on doorknobs. It has been the ONLY thing he has consistently had to complain about my messiness for the past 7 years, whereas I have a list nearly as long as Santa's naughty and good lists combined.

The Table: A Lesson in Patience

Growing up, my brothers and I sat at the dinner table every night with my parents. This was not a choice it was a rule that was only broken on the very rare occasion that we had friends sleeping over or lots of family over for a holiday (and in the case of holiday parties we were still expected to sit at a table, just in another room...)

Now, as a twenty-something wife and "someday mother," I have come to appreciate the kitchen table and understand why this place was so important to my parents. In this world of non stop electronic humming - from phones, computers, TVs and video games - the table is the last place in the house where a family of two (or ten) can sit, talk, relax and do all of this while actually looking at each other (I didn't make this up, check out this post on the Integrated Mother). This rudimentary piece of furniture has the potential to rebuild the grounds for communication, love and family. It is a tool that no family should be without and all families should gather at at least once a day, if only for a cup of coffee.

So why on earth would I consider turning the table into my own personal bonfire?

The Rabid Wife Reforms

Over the course of our relationship, Clark has seen me at every point of the spectrum. Relaxed, neurotic, sad, happy, insane, clinically depressed, mildly psychotic... He takes all of these emotions/mental states in stride and has learned to deal with me much as my mother has learned to deal with me (ignore, ignore, pacify, ignore, ignore). Well, over the past few days we had a series of events that led up to Clark leaving the apartment and me telling him to "never ever come back!" So you don't worry about it, let's just cut to the chase and tell you: it has a happy ending.

Reduce, Reuse, Re-Drive Me Crazy

I grew up poor. Not living in our station wagon poor (that is a serious matter, have you seen that commercial? double ugh)- but having hydrox instead of oreos, and never seeing a Q-tip until i got to college because they were an extravagance that didn't make it into the shopping cart.

Thus I grew up treating paper towels like gold. Towels that you use once and throw away? What a strange concept- then you need to buy more? Why not just use real towels and wash them when you are done? Like the pilgrims and the pioneers?

This is why my darling husband, Hans, and I have inherently different feelings about the proper use of a paper towel. I did not know about this or his intensely annoying paper towel habits until after we moved in together, and by that point it was too late, because i REALLY HATE MOVING- so i wasn't going to do it again.