Trying to get back into the spirit of blogging and figured 11/11/11 was good incentive. It being Veteran's Day, reminded that my step-son is a Veteran. And, umm... he's a guy.
And, as it turns out, the Army's taught him a lot domestic-wise. I'm finding that out lately since he's moved in with us while in the process of relocating his family, job interviewing, etc. Sadly, genetics appear to be winning - my step-son and my husband are mirror images of each other's habits. Not sure if it's the right brain/left brain thing; Venus/Mars or whatever. All I know is I now am an inhabitant of Opposite Land.
The door to the basement needs to be left open. This is because our cats don't cross their legs very well and their litter boxes are umm... in the basement. The door to the guest bedroom, where my step-son is sleeping, must remain closed to defend the cockatiel from the cats. Our cats are now delighted that this door remains almost constantly open.
The case of beer, resting innocently on the counter, belongs on the shelves in the basement. It sits there long after I repeat my request to put it in the basement. My request is met with a great chorus of, "Of course!" The chorus is now parked in front of the TV.
I am not snarky. I am not a Felix Unger type. I am under siege in my own home, and confused. And I must re-gain my house.
I attempt to rationalize this as I empty the dishwasher. But as I am about to put away the last glass, my step-son asks me his father's usual question - verbatim: "Can I help you with that?"
We sit down to dinner, and eventually discuss a list o'things to do that has to be done. The fellas both step up to the plate, and volunteer for almost everything on the list. "Are you sure?" I ask. Reassurances abound, plates are cleaned and put in the dishwasher (not by me) and a general feeling of well-being abound.
The next morning arrives, accompanied by blank looks: laundry? vacuuming? groceries? I repeat our conversation from the night before. A dim haze floats over their eyes.
I just got my Sebring back from my local dealership for some albeit minor, but expensive repairs. These weren't corrected right away, and I had to bring the car back. I was unhappy to be charged additionally for a diagnostic fluid; and I said so. Got a call; they agreed and will make it up to me.
The guy at the Chrysler place is umm... a guy. HE gets it. He was pretty good on the phone, too. So, do you think instead of getting the free oil change he promised me, I can trade him? Maybe he'll call the fellas and put them straight about the rules of the road at our house - since he' speaks their language?
DISCLAIMER: love my husband and step-son immensely; and this is all in good fun - and truly looking forward to DIL and grandkids living close by :)
And, as it turns out, the Army's taught him a lot domestic-wise. I'm finding that out lately since he's moved in with us while in the process of relocating his family, job interviewing, etc. Sadly, genetics appear to be winning - my step-son and my husband are mirror images of each other's habits. Not sure if it's the right brain/left brain thing; Venus/Mars or whatever. All I know is I now am an inhabitant of Opposite Land.
The door to the basement needs to be left open. This is because our cats don't cross their legs very well and their litter boxes are umm... in the basement. The door to the guest bedroom, where my step-son is sleeping, must remain closed to defend the cockatiel from the cats. Our cats are now delighted that this door remains almost constantly open.
The case of beer, resting innocently on the counter, belongs on the shelves in the basement. It sits there long after I repeat my request to put it in the basement. My request is met with a great chorus of, "Of course!" The chorus is now parked in front of the TV.
I am not snarky. I am not a Felix Unger type. I am under siege in my own home, and confused. And I must re-gain my house.
I attempt to rationalize this as I empty the dishwasher. But as I am about to put away the last glass, my step-son asks me his father's usual question - verbatim: "Can I help you with that?"
We sit down to dinner, and eventually discuss a list o'things to do that has to be done. The fellas both step up to the plate, and volunteer for almost everything on the list. "Are you sure?" I ask. Reassurances abound, plates are cleaned and put in the dishwasher (not by me) and a general feeling of well-being abound.
The next morning arrives, accompanied by blank looks: laundry? vacuuming? groceries? I repeat our conversation from the night before. A dim haze floats over their eyes.
I just got my Sebring back from my local dealership for some albeit minor, but expensive repairs. These weren't corrected right away, and I had to bring the car back. I was unhappy to be charged additionally for a diagnostic fluid; and I said so. Got a call; they agreed and will make it up to me.
The guy at the Chrysler place is umm... a guy. HE gets it. He was pretty good on the phone, too. So, do you think instead of getting the free oil change he promised me, I can trade him? Maybe he'll call the fellas and put them straight about the rules of the road at our house - since he' speaks their language?
DISCLAIMER: love my husband and step-son immensely; and this is all in good fun - and truly looking forward to DIL and grandkids living close by :)
RSS Feed
