In Laundry and In Leisure, For Long As We Both Shall Live.

It's a dirty job, but someone has to do it.

Someone has to put up with dumb boys who get cranky when they're hungry ("hangry"), tease you when they want attention, interrupt you when they just have to tell you that their towel is musty (put it in the dirty clothes then, eeeediot), and tickle you when they don't think they've quite bugged you enough.

Someone has to deal with the fact that boys will never be women.  We all have to deal with this.  They will never be able to multi-task the way we can.  It is empirically clear to me that my husband won't ever perfect the 'bottle making while holding the baby who is currently spitting up' talent.  He doesn't have the wiring in his mind to signal to him that there's loads of laundry, vacuuming to be done, a baby to be fed and two of us to do it- although, surprisingly I'm the only one running around.  I have to tell him.  I must be the project coordinator.  I like to coordinate.  I just hate to be the nag.

It's not my fault that he wears more clothes than adolescent teenage girl.  It's not my fault that he doesn't take his shoes off all the time when he comes in so that when you walk around you feel the little sand on the bottoms of your feet.  And, someone's gotta clean it.  And, evidently, it's not going to be him.

The phrase "tits on a bull" comes to mind.  As useless as tits on a bull.  Now, my husband- I shall call him Tits- isn't all that bad.  All I really have to do is ask.  All I really have to do is wait for him to be situated so that he can help.  He'll fold the laundry.  He'll.... well.  You know?  He leaves the cabinets and drawers open.  He will rinse our dishes off and may even put them in the dishwasher- but unless I practically make him, Tits won't wash the pot I used to make his dinner.

Tits Magee.  Now.  I realize that in life we must all take the good with the inconvenient.  My husband adds more good and humor to my life than really anyone ever has.  He works hard, loves us and is going to be the best dad and husband I could have asked for.  I love him and wouldn't trade Tits for the world.

He does things that I love.  I must give credit where it is due.  For my first mother's day, he bought me a ruby and diamond ring.  I gush over that.  I live for that stuff.

We have a chalk board in our kitchen where we write funny phrases and dumb messages.  His last one was this:

He balances me out.  He brings love to this house.  As well as hilarity.  I know that asking isn't a big deal, but I sound like a bitchy cliche bossing him around this house.  I just wish he'd notice the cues.  It would be fab if he just started the laundry.  Or just vacuumed the Dorito crumbs created by him missing his friken pie hole.  By God, he can be such a guy.  But I love Tits... my husband, not...actual tits.