Taking Out the Trash

Oh ladies, don't we love to joke about how husbands never fold the laundry, or don't even know how to operate the vacuum?  And, when our men actually do these chores they expect acknowledgment. They want a pat on the back, you to be in awe, and to reward them for their hard work.

We also joke that all men are good for is taking out the trash and mowing the lawn.  In a way, that is true.  If my husband died tomorrow, I'd have to hire a lawn service.  There is no way you would see me mowing the lawn.  The same goes for the garbage.

Below is a picture of how I like to let the garbage and recycling pile up:

This is very typical.  It drives my husband crazy.  Would it kill me to take out the trash?  Probably.  Here lately, I've had to take out the garbage because my nearly two year old daughter enjoys pulling things out of it.

I beg my husband to take out the trash before it makes a scene.  If he forgets, and I can no longer balance the garbage on top on top of the cans, I do take it out.  I set it right outside the garage door.  For this tiny chore I expect to be acknowledged for my hard work.  If I actually put on shoes and take the garbage to the outside bins, someone needs to buy me a trophy.  And, lord have mercy if I actually take the bins to road on Monday night for trash day.  If I've done that I'm either feeling extremely generous, or something is terribly amiss.  This chore should be greeted with praise, adoration, and possibly, new jewelry.  

I say all that to say this, ladies, it goes both ways.  We all have chores we don't like to do.  If we didn't, they wouldn't be called chores.  Next time your spouse does a tiny chore and expects praise, give it to them.  It will make him feel appreciated and loved.  

Parenting Isn't All Rainbows and Butterflies

Being a parent is great.  But, sometimes, being a parent is really hard, and it sucks.  There are many reasons for a parent's day to be awful.  Yesterday was one of those days for me, and it was all my fault.  I woke up with a bad attitude.  I wanted a break.  It's been about two weeks since I've had any time alone from my children, and that was just to run a few errands.  I didn't want to go to my son's last soccer game.  I didn't want to deal with my daughter being sick and miserable.  I didn't want my husband to work another Saturday.  Thus, my patience was thin.

Sure, bad days happen to every parent.  That's natural and normal.  Just don't take out your own frustrations on your children.  And, that's what I was trying so hard to not do.  

We went into Target to get a few things for my son's soccer coach.  I was so impatient.  I didn't want to be there.  I didn't want to be a Debbie Downer in the store.  I wanted to look like a happy mom, but I didn't succeed.  My lips were pulled tight.  I was picking out a card for the coach and my son stepped on my flip-flopped feet with his cleats for the third time.  

"Really?  Really?  You have got to watch where you are stepping, son."  I exclaimed, my voice full of exasperation. 

A complete stranger, old enough to be my mother, said "You are going to miss this when they are 35 and 37."  

I ended up talking to this nice woman for a few minutes.  I completely vented to her, which is unlike me.  She showed me pictures of her newborn grandson.  She told me that she remembered her kids at this age.  She remembered the hard days, and she remembered the fun day.  Most importantly, she wanted me to know that I was going to miss my kids when they were adults, and to not take this time for granted.  

I left the store thinking about the advice of a stranger.  

I continued on to my son's game.  It was cold.  It started raining.  I didn't have an umbrella.  The kids were still going to play, at least, for a few minutes.  I told the other moms that I was going inside because I didn't want my daughter to catch pneumonia (I know, it's isn't a "catching" thing), and someone please watch my son.  I added, sarcastically, that I was clearly trying out to be Mom of the Year.  

I strolled inside the church (that's the field where the league is) feeling guilty.  During this time I was forced to talk to other adults, a couple were from my Sunday School class, and pretend to be happy whilst chasing my daughter around.  I really did want to watch my son play; I just didn't want to get my daughter sicker.

By the time we left the soccer party/trophy giving/celebration thing my spirits had lifted.  I was glad my son enjoyed his season.  I was thankful to have a young daughter to chase around.  I was glad to be around to wipe my daughter's nose.  I appreciated my time with my children the rest of the day.  I attribute this to the stranger I ran into at Target.  She had been in my shoes.  She knew not all days were bad, and to appreciated the time I get to spend with my children while they are young.