And on this day, I managed not to pick a fight.

You know, Internet, this whole "going back to full-time work" thing is really putting a crimp in my blogging style. At work I've got, like, deadlines and stuff. And when I get home, my husband wants me spend some time with him instead of typing on the computer. I mean, where are his priorities? Geesh....

But he's at work today, and I'm at home with an entire house to clean and a couch full of laundry to fold, and lots of dust and dog hair staring me down............. So.....TA-DA! It's posting time! You know.... Priorities, right?

Anyway...........Here's a little tid-bit I wanted to share with you. And before I get started, I will present to you my bona fide disclaimer: Mike has really stepped up to the plate where the household chores are concerned. With both of us working full-time, he's been doing laundry, cleaning the kitchen, and taking the initiative on all sorts of things that fell under my "domain" as the stay-at-home-parent. He's doing a good job and I'm officially and publicly acknowledging it. OK? OK.

And now, with my pesky little disclaimer out of the way, I shall proceed with my story........
Mike cleaned the heck out of the upstairs the other day. The boys rooms were spotless, all the toys on the landing were put away, the beds were made and the bathroom was clean. That takes some serious time and effort, and I know that. I do it ALL THE TIME.

But Mike was huffy because two days after he'd spent his afternoon cleaning and organizing and making things nice, the boys had gone upstairs and played with their toys. I forget why he'd gone up there, but he came back down grumbling and frustrated that he'd spent all that time cleaning up after them, and they'd gone upstairs and messed it all back up! The poor man was so annoyed that you could practically see the hair standing straight up off the top of his head.

So I listened to his grumbling, and I nodded sincerely and said "Yeah.... I know....... It's really frustrating." And then I gave him a reassuring little pat on his back and left the room. Because if I didn't I would have added: "It's a little like how I bust my behind every single day to do the enormous amounts of laundry that you guys create. I mean, I get it washed and dried and sometime put back away, and you guys go right back in and WEAR THOSE CLOTHES! AGAIN!

And every freakin' Saturday I have to get my behind to the grocery store because we're almost out of food. For cryin' out loud, I spend all this time planning meals that fit into our budget, and spend all this money buying it, and you guys just turn around and eat it. You EAT IT ALL. And you eat ALL THE TIME.

And how I keep vacuuming the floor, and yet you guys insist on coming back inside! From outside. Where there's dirt. And dried up leaves. And grass clippings. And whatever else you drag back in. And the dang dog has the nerve to come inside and shed -- SHED -- right back on my floors!

And the last time I scrubbed the toilets, at least one of you had the audacity to actually go right on in there and POOP IN IT! I mean, COME ON! I just spent my time cleaning it. Do you really have to use a toilet?! Can't you go outside to the neighbor's yard or something? And at the very least boys, can you please actually HIT THE TARGET?"

But I didn't say that. I didn't say any of it. I just left the room and had my own private little laugh instead. Because, Internet, I am a good wife. And I know how to choose my battles.