I am torn right now. I unfairly exploded at Hubby this weekend about some things that have been frustrating me in my attempts to keep the house neat-ish. Specifically, his failure to put his clothes in the hamper 2 feet from where he drops them (I am not exaggerating) or his friggin’ gigantic shoes in the bin by the front door, instead of leaving them, along with his dirty socks, in a big pile on the floor of my small living room. Stuff like that.
I am puttering along trying to straighten up the house after our weekend and there is this mess of tools, screws, and wires sitting in front of my couch from when he dissected the air conditioner. Now, I was fine with this project, and even reminded him last night about the mess. He moved the A/C carcass out to the front porch until he can re-assemble the thing (hopefully tonight) and just left the rest there. Right where Tike likes to run around and play, and especially poke at things that are “Daddy’s”. Neat.
So rational me knows he probably just forgot about it, he does that. I do that. We all do that. But frustrated-and-annoyed me is positive this is some passive-aggressive attempt to get me to clean more.
So here I am deciding between talking to him later like a rational adult, or putting the socks, undies, and dirty tools on his pillow. So that we can talk about it tonight. HA!