Where do your shoes go?
At our house, we try to encourage people to put their shoes in their room. Because five of us live here and, for some reason, we all seem hardwired to kick off our shoes in the living room. But if we were allowed to do that, the floor would be covered with cast-off shoes within minutes and chaos would reign. We would no longer require an area rug because children's Crocs and sneakers and half inside-out socks would cover all the available floor space. We would trip over them constantly and the living room would smell
And yet, though you too have tripped over stray sneakers and cursed as you narrowly avoided injury - you somehow think there is a Daddy Exemption to the Shoe Rule. There is not. You wear a size 13 shoe. Your snow boot is bigger than my first car. There are kayaks smaller than your dress shoes. Put them away, dude. Because when you don't - the kids are like "but Daddy leaves his out and one of his are as big as six of mine so that's not fair!" and they're right. And I hate to be outwitted by people who have to ask my permission to poop.
We Don't Have a Reading Room, Do We?
Our house is pretty standard. It doesn't come with a library. The absence of a room specifically designed for reading does not mean that you can designate one for that purpose. Especially not when that room already has a purpose. You guessed it - the potty room. Here's a new rule regarding the bathroom: If you bring three sections of the Wall Street Journal in there for your morning constitutional, please take them back out with you. And carry them directly to the outdoor recycling bin. Also, the use of certain electronics - such as MY SMARTPHONE - in the Reading Room is strictly forbidden. Just because the web browser on my phone is awesome does not mean you can bring it in there. Just please don't do it because I will know.
Congratulations. You Changed a Diaper.
I Did Not Throw Away Your Driver's License
Every once in a while, it is incumbent upon me to sort through piles of crap and paperwork and make decisions about what needs to be recycled, shredded, or tossed. I don't enjoy doing this. Mostly because I hate cleaning. But also because when you get home, you see that the piles of crap have been sorted and instead of saying, "Thank you, darling. Would you like a kiss and a glass of wine?" you say: "What happened to that pile? The one that was right there? Did you throw away my driver's license?" No, I did not. And just because I accidentally recycled my W-2 form once right before tax day does not mean that I always get into a sorting frenzy and randomly throw stuff out without really looking at it. Ahem. Usually.
And every pile is an important pile to you. So I don't understand what I'm allowed to toss. I'm sorry but what very important pile were you referring to? The one comprised of Val-Packs, Pottery Barn catalogs and fliers for tree pruning? That pile? Or the pile of discarded newspapers and Starbucks napkins? If items are important, let's put them in an important place. Here's a suggestion - let's not make the "important place" be a pile precariously balanced on top of the Honey Nut Cheerios in the kitchen directly above the garbage can. Because then your driver's license will get thrown away - either by force of gravity or one of our offspring who is trying to get some cereal.
Let's be honest, between my irrational hatred of cleaning and your insistence on me not touching the piles, we are probably going to end up hoarders, so let's please put off that undesirable outcome just as long as possible. Shall we?
How Do You Think People Get Cards?
The holidays are coming. Birthdays, anniversaries, new babies, and graduations happen throughout the year. How do you think people get greeting cards for these events? Because apparently there was a silent clause in our marriage vows that stated that I was responsible for the timely sending of cards and gifts. Have we met? I am the wrong person to put in charge of this task. First of all, I forget things. Second of all - I hate the post office. Hate it. But I still do it. Thirdly, I . . . can't remember exactly.
You actually care about sending our Christmas cards. I do, too. So this year, could your participation in sending out our holiday greetings consist of more than:
- Speculating as to whether the intended recipients of our festive holiday greeting are still alive.
- Exclaiming: "These cards cost WHAT?!" and then having to sit down and quietly sip scotch for a while.
- Taking a stack of cards, writing very long notes on three of them and then turning on the TV, stretching and saying: "I think it's so important to stay in touch."
- If, in fact, the envelope glue is poisonous (a la Seinfeld) then I will surely die if I have to lick all of them by myself (again).
- I know how much 75 stamps cost. You don't have to do the math.
(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2010