Cleaning: Throwing in the dirty towel–er, clothes.

You know those “discussions” with your spouse that are not exactly fights, but it sort of feels like that, because you know you’re in trouble?
Had one of those tonight.
{Awesome. } 

I’m not one to blog about my marital problems–or even complain much to my mom about them. I mean, I like my husband, and I don’t want to permanently change anyone’s opinion of him because I might be temporarily annoyed with him.
However.
However.
It was about cleaning.

My husband has this strange expectation that the house should be kept clean.  Not white-glove clean, just walk-through-the-room-without-tripping clean.
{You get one hip replacement and tripping over the floor is the biggest deal! Suck it up, right?} 

The thing is…
I think he’s right.
Don’t tell him I said that; he wouldn’t believe you even if you did.
I think he’s right that you should be able to have a place to sit that you don’t have to move stuff over first.
He’s probably even right that most of the “dirty” laundry would actually have been clean, had I put it away a week ago rather than dumping it on the couch and doing everything I can to not think about the laundry since.
And he’s probably right that even though I’m trying to keep the kitchen clean, it’s hard to notice when the entire house is a disaster. He’s definitely right that the kids shouldn’t be climbing up into the tall cupboards to reach the mugs because the cups were all dirty.

Don’t get me wrong; my house is not ready for some “I’m trapped in my house and can’t get out” reality TV show.
It’s not that bad.
It’s just far worse than it should be.

It’s just so hard to keep up on. It’s so frustrating knowing that cleaning today doesn’t change that my house will be a mess again tomorrow. It’s overwhelming to know even where to begin. It’s hard to remember that stupid stupid stupid laundry, and so depressing when I see it knocked all over the floor by the children later.

To my sweet, wonderful, loving, kind, OCD husband:
I will make the bed and wash the towels and feed you dinner for eternity.
Just don’t make me do the laundry ever again.
Please?
Love,
Me 

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