A Nagger bites her tongue

Every spouse has a pet peeve about their better half. I knowingly married a man with ADHD, which means I married clutter junction.

Yes, I do enter into the nag-nation when the trails of crap become too deep to navigate. But yesterday was the ultimate. The weather was gorgeous and I wanted to straighten out the garage a bit. When I had finally rediscovered the back of the dump corner (that place in the garage that arctic folk pile stuff until spring, I found IT.

Many months ago, my husband went bird hunting with his intrepid buddies. It was so cold that the hunters actually went to their own homes to finish up cleaning the birds. My children watched and learned all about "parts" of the birdies. And Super B left the bloody feathers all over that corner of the garage. ANd left a nasty bucket sticky with bird goo in the middle of it. Of course I asked Super B the next day to clean it up. And I asked 3 or 4 more times. It never happened. I swept up most of the feathers (they were being tracked into the house) and waited. Folks, I am biting my tongue. It is still there. Any bets on how long it will take? If I wasn't so grossed out- I would do it myself and shut up.

A lesson

When you hear your child say, "Look mom- - paw prints!" and you do not own a pet...beware.

In the moment it took me to pour my desperately needed morning coffee, my whirling dirvish smeared both of her hands with the SUGARFREE apricot jam from her bagel and proceeded to coat my dining room table with "pawprints".

When is THIS stage over?

Whining. Whining. Whining.

It is as if the skin is being peeled from my ears.

The words of the illustrious Tabitha L. ring in my ears, "If anything, be consistent."


Does hiding in the corner of the bathroom, rocking and weeping at 4 pm everyday count? Oh, cuz I am CONSISTENT.