It’s that time again. I’m so nervous that the inside of my sphincter has sprouted wart shingles.
Its time for spring Cleaning.
Say what you will. It’s a timeless cliche, nobody actually does it; Keep up with your chores and you won’t have to spring clean..blah blah. But, my HUSBAND WILL BE HOME.
You see, our spring breaks conflict. They conflict! This makes me very conflicted. That’s a scary emotion! It’s an emotion where you don’t know if your shit is going to be saved. It’s an emotion where there’s a 48 hour rule and your shit will get thrown away if you’ve left it out too long, even if your ADD took you on a journey far, far away from all of your shit.
Sometimes I feel bad. Most times I feel bad. Could I ever go back to the womb and change the mechanics of my intermittent brain wiring? I would do that for my man. I would time travel to my prior fetus self and I would configure more brain cells and I would do scientific shit and I would make premature fetus womb baby normal. Because I’m a shit wife.
Why am I a shit wife, you might ask?
I suck because I spend money (although it’s a clearance rack, thrift store addiction), I can’t stay on budget, I can’t keep shit organized, I allegedly don’t clean my car enough, I forget everything under the sun, I’m a crap cook, always late, always skeptical, my timing is always off, I’m overly sensitive, I vent too much, and I can never say no.
…And tomorrow’s my 15th wedding anniversary. 15 is a lot. 15 years are a whole lot of years of handling my tomfoolery. Those are enough years to make you question your choices, want to retrace your steps, maybe not ask a certain red-headed (faux ginger) ding-a-ling if she would like him to carry her purse all night as he followed her around while she was bar hopping on Church Street. It allows you the time to question these life altering choices.
So what kind of spring cleaning will be done while I’m back to work after my Spring Break, and he’s home on his?
Hopefully just the “Look, honey – this thing is called a dust pan” kind. You just scoop the dirt right into this end part here.” OR: “Hey. We might can take your ventilator away. If you wipe away this festive 6 inch dust patch from all of the furniture, we can probably get your health back on point.” I do sneeze A LOT.
I hope that’s the kind of spring cleaning that’s done. Because, I can admit and handle and maintain my monstrous messes. I am the first to confess that I have got issues, hang ups, idiosyncrasies, and hives. I’ve only had hives once, but they sucked enough to add them to this list. I can’t remember something you just told me five minutes ago, I’ll make a stupid ass decision based on zero merit, I will make an impulsive purchase, I will let the clutter pile up and fester, and I will always live inside my unorganized, frantic brain. I never acted like I was perfect.
I am going to hope for the best. I am going to stay focused and positive, and pessimistic only sometimes. I’m going to mentally prepare myself for the douching that is gettin’ ready to go down. I’m going to expect a lot of my shit to be put away in unexpected, and much more clever places, and I’m going to be satisfied.
I am not going to let those thoughts invade…the thoughts that always come when we get busy and have those days where our lives barely intersect, as we are toting kids to activities and functions. The thoughts that include me thinking that he probably deserves better, how he is the coolest person I’ve ever met and why did he settle for hot mess mediocrity?
When I think he deserves better, it’s because I think he deserves the best. He definitely got the best ass blossom there is, and the best crusader of crap, and definitely, unequivocally the best procrastinating, forgetful, psychotically whacked out, anxious turdmonger that there is. He did win that prize.
But, I love him. He’s more than funny. He is the funny. His grammar is not too bad. He balances us out, keeps us afloat. He keeps our lives fun and laughter filled. He is dedicated, loyal, very hard working, the best father, and he sees my stupid face every single day.
He probably most definitely does deserve better. But – I’m here. And luckily, I will always try to improve. I always see the opportunity to become better. I will always pounce on change. I will grasp the bunghole of my versatility, will realize my blessings, be his biggest fan, adore every memory, live in the moment, and appreciate. I will always appreciate the hell out of him. You can definitely not spring clean that shit away.
Happy anniversary, Boo. 3/11/2000……..