Season 1 - Episode 4: Residential Terrorism

Let it be said, "I love my husband dearly." On that note, may I be quite honest? He drives my OCD up a wall. He's like a straight up terrorist to my need for everything to be done a certain way. Now, I do understand that the shortcoming on this particular topic comes from within me and not him. But it doesn't change the fact that I am seriously thrown into emotional convulsions when I walk in his wake.

For example, on a normal morning at the Nelson Estate, I will awake to a kiss on the cheek and a bid farewell from My Prince. I will smile, and roll over, and blissfully steal a few more minutes of beautiful sleep, before rising to begin a new day. When I get out of bed to shut off the alarm, I immediately shut the closet door. The closet door which we have discussed keeping closed because of our shoe hungry puppy, Rosie... Grr... Then I will head straight for the kitchen to the coffee pot, to grab a cup of steamy caffiene, only to find that yet again, my love has made WAY too much. (Let me stop, and explain. I would not have a problem with this, if he would reheat himself a cup from this very pot the following morning. He won't. He refuses to drink leftover coffee, which I respect, but I have shown him how to make just enough coffee for two full coffee mugs, without wasting a drop. It's easy. I'm not asking him to break out his scientific calculator and test tubes. But, no. He makes twice as much, or more, than we need everyday and throws it out.. $$$ down the drain. Hey, waste not, want not..) Sigh... As I sip my coffee, I proceed to wipe down the counter tops of all the sandwhich crumbs and mustard stains leftover from My Love making his lunch. I can usully tell just what he packed himself for lucnch that day. Then I continue by shutting the cabinets and drawers, that have all been left open about 2 inches. I know every cabinet he went into, further telling me what he packed himself and possibly, what he had for breakfast that morning. Ugh...

Usually at this time, I take a few minutes to wake up the girls and go to the restroom, where I indefinitely have to put down the seat, first. I'll stop and glance at my recflection in the mirror as I wipe off the toothpaste splatters from the glass. It's not too long after that I almost always get a "good morning" text from my prized hubby, making me smile and blush as I reciprocate my love and affection to him, forgetting the earlier frustrations.

As I continue along in my morning rituals, I pick up all the Dr. Pepper cans that have been used and forgotten in what looks like a sugar-abuse episode of Intervention. When I approach the garbage, I see the select few that we're obviously brought this far intentionally, sitting on the counter directly above it. It's at this point where I make a crucial decision. Laugh it off and appreciate the effort that my husband made to get the cans this far, or scoff and shake my head because he didn't take the extra step of actually putting them inside the garbage. Ah, my life. My chaos. My OCD.

There are various other things that My Love does that cause my brain to twitch. Like how he always changes the kitchen faucet from the "spray" setting which I favor, to the other one, whatever it's called... Or how he leaves the sponge in a pot or bowl with water that's been contaminated with whatever it had in it before it made its way to the sink, instead of wringing it our and putting it back in its home, it's specail place on the rim of the sink.. Or how he always takes the last paper towel and doesn't replace it with a new roll, and worst of all, puts the toilet paper roll on backwards... Aaah!

As I mentioned before, I really do understand that I, in fact have the major character defect to answer for. My husband is a wonderful man with a big heart and would never do these things to intentionally mess with me. In his defense, he really tries to remember all my "little things" as he would call them. But you see, there are just so many, that it's inevtiable that I set up almost everyone for failure. It's just my internal response to things being out of place. Thanks a lot, Mom. I'm sure I inherited that quality from you. Haha.

Wonderful Eli is just as irritated and confused by my need for things to be the way I need them to be as I am with his lack of it. Like how I have to make the bed, pull the sheets tight and wipe away all the wrinkles before we can go to sleep, or how I always have to have the bathroom towels folded just right, the black one in half, underneath the zebra print one, which is folded in thirds and centered perfectly. Or how I always load the dishwasher the same way, plates and bowls in their designated spot, kids cups and glassware on their own sides of the top rack, and the sliverware... Oh, the silverware. All forks, spoons, butter knives, other knives etc. have their own compartment, and need to be sorted like so, with spoons and forks standing upright and knives pointed downward, of course.

Hey, it's okay. Laugh. I laugh at myself all the time....

Except for when it's not funny.

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