Random Musings

Just Ask

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I met my Hubby in 2002, and I almost let him get away. I had just wrapped a spin of dating that was both comical and sad. I needed a break. That, though, is a tale for another day.

At some point during our dating phase, my future hubby told me he was no stranger to housework. I fell in love shortly thereafter.

Two years later, we were living together with a baby on the way. Future Hubby didn’t want me taking the stairs to the basement to do laundry, so he washed load after load complaint free.

What he did not do, however, was fold it. He routinely delivered me approximately five loads of laundry crammed into two baskets. I would thank him quietly, then spend the next two hours rolling my eyes while ironing wrinkled clothes.

This song and dance has continued occasionally throughout the years. After our second daughter arrived, Hubby stepped up his efforts to help around the house. Now he brings me eight loads of laundry in three baskets.

As I smoothed out a pile of Onesies, I wondered why I never asked Hubby to fold. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but the frosty reception I gave him whenever he dropped balled up laundry at my feet wasn’t any better.

So I decided to give it a try. “Hey babe. Thanks for doing the laundry.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Would you mind folding the laundry after you wash it? If it sits too long unfolded, then I have to go back and iron it.”

“Ok.”

I couldn’t believe it was that simple. I had wasted so much time grumbling, and all I had to do was ask. I wonder how many other things I’ve let bother me when it wasn’t necessary.

Accepting Praise (or Finding Fabulous, Part 2)

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During one of my daily Facebook check ins, I saw a post from a friend that said she was on a mission to slim down. I had to read the person’s name twice, because I didn’t think she needed to lose an ounce.

I happened to run into her later that day. She was petite as I remembered.
“Hey!” I said. ” I saw your post earlier today. You look great! You want to lose weight?”

She sighed out a puff of air so tough it ruffled her bangs. As she was explaining to me that the weight loss was much needed, someone else approached and had the same reaction as I did. That person then turned to me. “You look awesome too! That’s a great outfit.”

I looked down at what I was wearing. Black pants, floaty white blouse, black blazer. I had a lot of trouble picking something that day, and I begrudgingly threw that outfit together. Just as I was about to lament, I caught the complaint at the back of my throat.

“Thank you,” I smiled.

We spent a more few minutes talking about fitness. As we parted ways, I said to my friend: “I understand not being where you want to be, but I think you look great.”

I got a smile. “Thank you. I must be hiding it really well.”

This exchange got me to thinking. When do women learn to accept compliments with a grain of salt? I tried to think of the compliments I’ve received lately — from friends, colleagues, my hubby. I gave a caveat to most of them.

That’s over. I’m still in the process of defining what “fabulous” means to me, but I’m certain it includes gracefully accepting praise and believing that I deserve it.
So yes, my outfit was banging. I worked that blazer.

Seven and Seven

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I knew having Baby #2 would be a challenge, but apparently, I had no idea. I was ready for diaper changes, sore breasts and late nights.

I wasn’t ready for the toll my girls’ seven-year spread would have on me. The needs of a seven year old often conflict with those of a seven week old. While I’m supposed to be helping with homework or listening to a run-down of the school day, I have to contend with a hungry, crabby, or poopy infant.

Exhaustion doesn’t help. The old adage “sleep when the baby sleeps” had to be coined by a person with only one kid. If I took a nap every time the baby did, my oldest would wear dirty clothes to school and be sustained on a diet of Fruit Loops.

I’m getting better. Or at least I hope I am. The first step was for me to accept the imperfections. Superwoman I am not. Right now, the sink is full of dishes, and there is a basket of unfolded laundry in the living room. I’ll get to them tomorrow.

It turns out the baby likes to sleep during car rides, so this weekend we’ll go out for ice cream. The ride should buy me a tear-free hour, giving me some time with E.

And if I’m lucky, I can catch a nap or two.