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The flower guy just stopped outside our office, and we all craned our necks above our little cages to see who got flowers, and he was just asking for directions. Ha. What was I expecting? Nick just came up here to get my paycheck so he could deposit it before I could take any of it, the romantic. I keep telling him how much it bugs me when he does that, but I guess I'm white noise to him because he does it every single week. His reward for a long week of sitting at home with no kids. A little hostile, me? What gave me away? To continue my Nick rant, he has been doing laundry all week. Good, you say. No, not good. All he does is the washing and drying. Then he dumps it on the couch, unfolded, and waits for it to magically disappear. Well, this pisses me off, so I've been just leaving it there. He ran out of couch space, so he moved to the easy chair. Then to the dresser. Then to the bar. There is so much clean laundry sitting there, and in between piles, there's Nick, playing a video game, oblivious to the chaos. It makes me want to scream, but I have been making a conscious effort to be a better person (everywhere but here) so I hold it in. I count to ten. I close my eyes and take a deep, cleansing breath. I open them and AUGHH! It's still there. It has been expanding since Monday, and now, on Friday, it has reached near gargantuan proportions. Soon I will be sleeping on a pile of fresh-rain-and-bleach scented underpants because we won't be able to find my bed. I refuse to do it. I won't put it away. He decided he was going to do laundry, and there is no reason a mostly healthy 24-year-old man can't fold and put away laundry. The problem with the stalemate is that we are both so stubborn, he will wash every dirty item of clothing we own, and then he will start taking clothes out of the dressers and washing them, just to add to the mountain, just to get to me. We had this fight over the dishes once. I wasn't feeling well and asked him once in our years of cohabitation to do the dishes. He said something along the lines of, "of course, honey." I know this will shock you, but he didn't do them. I know. So I didn't either, because he said he would. Two months later, every dish in our apartment was dirty and we couldn't let people see our kitchen because it was so gross. Every few days, Nick would fill up the sink with soapy water and put a few dishes in it. When the water was ice-cold and smelly, he would let it out and put in new water. I told him that was the slowest dish-washing technique I had ever seen, and it didn't even work. His reply? Some sort of comment like watch this technique, or I've got your technique right here, and then he called his mother and told her I was being mean and making him do the dishes. So she came over and did them. And I wonder why he's such a baby about things sometimes. He's been enabled all his life. Nickolas has started talking in full sentences now. I've probably mentioned that before, but now he's even putting them together right. Lukas says "I betcha..." and "How 'bout..." and "Because..." in front of everything, even when it doesn't make sense. Like, "Where are you, Lukas?" is answered, "Because...I'm in my room." Which he pronounces "mmmmm". And he says puc for cup, and cut for tuck, and a few other funny little dyslexic tics. I hope that's nothing serious. I'm sure it isn't. Anyway, it's Friday, so I'm out of here soon for the weekend. Anyone who hates their job (like me) should go read chadly7's post for today. He speaks to my heart. Kids are: Last person who pissed me off: Heard in my house: Miss Anything? pics - 2007-06-05
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