To read the story of our precious Harlynn Renae, start here and follow the "next" links at the end of each post. Thank you for coming and sharing with us in this journey.

Tuesday, August 31, 2010

You missed a spot...

I am a type A personality. I like things "just so" and prefer that everyone do things my way, because obviously my way is the right way. I love to keep my house clean, my desk, I have my yarn organized by color, I have my books organized by size and category, the tag of the towel has to be on the inside-back if it's over a towel rack, etc. Just so.

When Brent and I were first married he was working for Fed Ex, and I was waiting tables and working as a teller, part-time. He was gone from 6:30 in the morning until 6 at night, and I was gone for four hours during the day, and 4 or 5 hours at night. We hardly saw each other. However, our apartment was pristine. When Brent wasn't at home, I was able to clean, cook, and organize like nobody's business. I would get so frustrated with him when he wouldn't put the remote back in the basket designated for all-things-remote. Or when he would leave a pot holder out on the counter. God forbid he ever leave his wet towel on the bed! I'm pretty sure God forbids it, because otherwise, why would it bother me so much?

For the first two or three years of our marriage, Brent and I were always on opposite schedules, and I was able to be home for at least some part of the day. I was working part-time, going to school part-time, and Brent was gone all day all the time. We saw each other on weekends, sometimes, and whenever I had a night off from the restaurant. You've read about it (the restaurant) here.

We moved to Fargo in 2006 and again were on different schedules. For the first time in seven years of my working life, I was working only one job, and it was during the day. Brent was working a job from 3:00 to 12:00 midnight. We saw each other when I came home for lunch, and on the weekends. Still, I was able to get so much done in the evenings while he was at work. Our apartment was spic and span. Type A personality wouldn't let it be any other way.

We bought our house in 2007, and Brent was on the island of Mauritius for the first two weeks we lived here. I painted the main floor by myself, and got everything set up once the movers (and good friends) brought all the furniture and boxes in. I believe Brent was sitting on a beach and shopping in the downtown marketplace. He missed me a lot.....when he remembered he had a life back in the states.

Evenutally things settled down to the point where Brent and I, for the most part, are at work during the same time and are home during the same time. Finally, right? Eh. I don't know what it is, but Type A takes a vacay when Brent is in the house. I can't get anything done with him here. I used to think it was because I felt obligated to spend time with him, but I know that's not the case because half the time he's here, we're in separate rooms, or I'm knitting and he's watching television, etc. My productivity completely shuts down when he's home. I literally can't even move when he's home. I ask him to rub my feet or my neck or my back because something is always sore. I'm always half-asleep. I'm so wiped, I can't even stand up to cook dinner.

Unless he's not here.

Tonight, Brent went to a football game, dressed in his referee attire and I didn't see him at all after I got home from work. I strapped the baby on in the front-pack, cooked dinner, fed the baby, did laundry, did the dishes, cleaned the kitchen, changed baby (twice), read baby a book, cleaned the bedroom, put baby to bed, and even had time to catch up on facebook. Brent came home and ate some of the marvelous dinner I prepared, (thanks to e-mealz) and now I'm relaxing a bit before bed. I'm pretty sure there is some scientific explanation as to why I cannot function at normal capacity when Brent is home.

I refuse to believe it's because I'm spoiled and subconsciously know that if I act pitifully enough, I will get a foot massage out of the deal. It can't be.

There are times when I can't stand the state of our house anymore (by the way, it is much harder to maintain the cleanliness of a house than an apartment. Can I get an "Amen!"?) and I will ask Brent to leave. He has to go somewhere so I can find that motivation within to get the house cleaned. What in the world?

It's not just true for me, though. Brent tends to get a lot more done if I'm not home, or if I'm in an entirely separate area of the house. I can still be in the house for him to function, though. He needs to be off the property for me to make any real progress. The only thing I can really do with him home is laundry, or shine my sink.

Maybe I'm not a Type A Personality after all. Maybe I'm a Type A-. Or a B+.

Seriously - put the remotes in the basket.

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