Yesterday, Tim and I got in a fight about laundry. About 75% of our fights revolve around cleaning (for real).
I was folding heaps of clothing, when Tim came over to “help.” He immediately started unhanging all of his clothes (that I had just hung!) and telling me that they were hung “incorrectly.”
To Tim, there is “only 1 way to clean.” That’s a direct quote. He thinks there is a certain system for folding laundry, hanging clothes, loading the dishwasher, mopping the floor, even scrubbing the toilets…and heaven help the person who deviates (that’s usually me). ;)
I’m a neat person, but it’s more like this: If I look around and see clean floors, clutter-free countertops, and all the clothes in drawers, I am content. He looks and says, “My black socks don’t go in the left corner of this drawer!” Uh-huh.
I may or may not have huffed, “You are so inflexible!” and stomped out the RV with our 1-year-old on my hip after yesterday’s incident. Embarrassingly, I also bonked her head into the wall in my hurry to get out.
We have days like that – when the symmetry is off, when the Grumposaurus Rex comes to get us. (Does he ever come to your house?).
You may sometimes read my blog and wonder how it’s possible that we are so happy. It may even seem that we are pretending, that this whole thing is a big farce.
But we’re not pretending. We ARE ridiculously happy. It’s just perspective.
If you were to see the overarching themes of my life (if you could hear the music of the soundtrack of me…), you would undoubtedly see beauty and wonder, love and magic. You would hear a glorious symphony, with notes of laughter and magnificence. Of course, there would also be sad tunes and stomping marches…but mostly, you’d hear a comforting melody.
When I came back in the RV twenty minutes later, Tim had put away all of HIS clothes – and left my clothes and the girls’ clothes sprawled out on the bed. “I didn’t want to mess up your system,” he remarked, matter-of-factly. “Unlike you, I don’t HAVE a system,” I retorted snootily (now with a half-smile on my face), “I’m just satisfied when the clothes are put away.”
Later that night, our 4-year-old turned on the country music station and all four of us danced in the main room to Alison Krauss. As I sang along into a pretend microphone with animated gestures, he caught me in an embrace and said, “I’m sorry; I love you.”
The orchestra played and the back-up singers chorused, “You’re so lucky to have a life like this, a life like this...” Except that music wasn’t playing on the radio. It was playing in my heart.
What do you and your spouse fight about the most?
