Being Efficient isn’t a Great Epithet

Being Efficient isn’t a Great Epithet

Here lies Caren McCaleb. She could put dishes away faster than you. Ponder that and go do something great with your life.

That’s what I am reflecting on after a little incident this morning with a bunch of stray plastic lids. I need to re-frame my habitual response.

I have a pet peeve that’s triggered almost daily. It’s about putting things away. I want every item to have a place in the home where it lives. I want them to be in that place, and only that place, when they are not in use. My husband does not seem to want this. He is okay with things being in all sorts of places. In my model, every object has an assigned parking lot that no one else can park in, in his, the parking lot is first come first serve and just because you got the prime spot yesterday doesn’t mean a plastic lid can’t claim it today.

The reason I prefer my model is that it is more efficient. When I am putting things away, especially the dishes, I can grab what I want to return and just place it where it goes. In his model, I grab what I want to put away, go to the place it lives, notice the space is now occupied by an interloper, set down the object I’m holding, resettle the interlopers, pick up the object again and finally place it. The peeve I feel, the irritation, is that extra few steps. I don’t want to move the stupid plastic lids before I can set down the bowl! I’ve got other important things to do like surf the web for bad news.

Imagine if every time you came back to your apartment, you have to double park your car, knock on the neighbor’s door, ask for his keys and move his car from your parking spot to his. Such a needless pain in the ass.

Or is it?

My husband consistently does a bunch of things I hate to do; bill paying, laundry, feeding the dogs, last dog walk of the night, veterinary interactions, communicating with our tax guy, installing everything that needs installing, car maintenance, Wi-Fi maintenance, staying calm. He also does a bunch of things so much better than me, like making chili and being a DJ. His chili is perfection and he is a genius music curator. Is there something on this list that I would trade for better tupperware management?

If we both did what I can do, how would this other stuff get done? If we both did what I can do, what would be the need for me? Rather than see this an act against my efficiency, I need to see it as an opportunity to be of use.

When I move the plastic lids to free up the space for a small ornamental bowl, I am contributing to this family. I am not being denied quality of life. I need to see my task as a gift of gratitude to those I love and not as stolen piece of mind. The piece of mind that will be lost is when I don’t have my wonderful husband and his wonder skills.

I don’t hold my husband close and tell him how lovely it is to be married to a very efficient man. Please let me give him a better reason to hold me close in return.

Winter Sandals

Winter Sandals

Good news/bad news. Good news first.

My husband loves his new slippers! Did you read my novel, I Lost it Over Slippers? Okay, it was long but it was really funny and worth it. I ordered us all some house shoes, first pair ever for the husband.

I’m picking up here where I left off there and keeping it short! The first Zappos box arrives and both pairs don’t fit. It was a repeat situation. I’m not even gonna describe it. Disappointment is such a hard emotion to manage. But we persevered and all our feet are now snuggly and warm! Husband’s were the last to arrive, so he is the newcomer to the warm foot party and since he’s never experienced this before, it’s a total game changer.

There really is no bad news but something funny and frustrating happened, only frustrating in the dumbest and least consequential way. Last night I brought him his slippers while he was reclining on the couch with the doggies and pulled his boots off, demonstrating how they could be worn at night and not just in the morning. But confusion was sown when he woke and couldn’t find them in the bedroom. He bellowed down the hallway, where are my sandals! I can’t find my sandals!

Your sandals? Your winter sandals? This is the same man who calls a long sleeve t-shirt a thin sweater and has no idea what fleece is. He’s also told me he likes my skirt when I am wearing a dress. I don’t know. Do you? It doesn’t matter. It makes me laugh. I am so glad he likes his winter sandals. That’s definitely what we are calling them from now on.

Sock Party

Sock Party

I feel like I’ve developed a reputation around the house for being critical so I’m conscientiously trying to be more tolerate or at least keep my trap shut. Then I stumble across this tableau.

Does anyone have a suggestion for how to handle this uncritically? Is there a new standard I am unaware of where socks and dirty cake knives get to co-mingle in the kitchen and everyone’s cool with it? My husband’s defense was; those socks just came out of the dryer, meaning it’s okay because they didn’t just come off his feet. Good point. That is a plus.

I think what happened is, he was on his way to putting them on when suddenly seduced by cake availability. I guess I can’t fault him for that. The cake is really good.