My husband is cleaning the bathrooms right now. I am preparing to go upstairs and open all of the windows so I can get away from the bleach he has sprayed on the surface of everything. My nostril hairs are burning.

It was one of the things I loved about him when we first lived together; his Naval training had taught him how to clean a mean bathroom.

Of course, while I was a SAHM that was (mostly) my duty and the whole house was a lot cleaner back in those days. I remember picking up every toy after the kids went to bed. I can’t even fathom that I had that much time on my hands.

Now I work a lot and my husband works a lot, and our kids are involved in all kinds of activities, and we are involved in all kinds of activities. My house is rarely, if ever, clean.

So, in addition to the massive amount of yardwork he does throughout the year, my husband chips in with the housework (and laundry) sometimes too. As awesome as it is to have a well-scrubbed kitchen floor, it is hard for me to let the housework go. I feel like it’s still my job.

But, it isn’t. It’s our job now. And, I will try not to feel guilty, or criticize, because he is doing it.

Just don’t tell him I took all the towels off the bathroom shelf and refolded them.

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I missed posting yesterday, but I spent over 12 hours of my weekend doing volunteer work for three different committees and/or organizations. Unless you left food on your front porch to be picked up, needed food delivered, or are a special needs kid, I didn’t have time to get to you. Now you should count your blessings.

My husband and I got into an argument tonight. About stuffing. Then we went grocery shopping together, because nothing makes an argument better than going to a crowded store a few days before Thanksgiving and buying the stuffing ingredients over which you just fought.

We have relatives coming in town this weekend, which means I’ve been busy moving boxes and random junk from one room to our bedroom and wishing that I had time to repaint the house from top to bottom. Also, refinish some tables. And floors.

My daughter is a Science Lab assistant at her school and they had to bury a dead fish the other day. She and some other kids sang “Amazing Grace” over the grave.

We toured our daughter’s future high school yesterday. Gulp.

Then I ate so many tortilla chips that my lips felt like I went swimming in the Dead Sea.

I pulled my left glute muscle doing rear step lunges. The exercise looked like this, though I DON’T look like this. But, I did have a 30 lb. dumbbell, so clearly she needs to work out more.

From About.com Exercise

My rear step lunge looks impressive, doesn’t it? It wasn’t. It mostly involved me saying, “Ow!” and holding my left butt cheek a lot. You’re welcome.

A friend and I started a “world tour” of beers at a local bar. On Friday, we visited France, Belgium, and Brooklyn, then I headed to Mexico and she went to Canada. I hate to say that the worst of the lot came from Brooklyn, but I will. Because it did. What’s up with that, Brooklyn? You need to represent!

And now I’m pretty sure you would all like me to go back to volunteering.

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Four in the bed and the little one said, “When are you guys getting up? I want pancakes!”

Seriously, even the dog was annoyed.

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Four years ago I was asked to speak at my church for fundraising purposes. We had created a committee who was in charge of acquiring funds to help integrate special needs children, like mine, into typical settings. I got up in front of three different masses, full of hundreds of people, told our story and then asked for money.

I had spent weeks writing my speech. Literally. Weeks. I wrote it, rewrote it, then rewrote it again. I practiced it, took stuff out, practiced more, added it back. I’ve seen dissertations take less time.

Since then I’ve done a lot of writing. Granted, it’s blog writing, but still.

This weekend I am talking again. This time at four masses. One of them is tomorrow and I JUST wrote my speech.

And, darn if I didn’t knock that sucker out in about 17 minutes.

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