The one thing our hubby’s can do to make us melt; make us swoon.
The key to my heart isn’t the dishes. Not the laundry. Not vacuuming. Not cleaning the house. Not cooking dinner. Not breakfast in bed. (Granted those things would be nice).
I just want my hubby to remember to take out the damn trash.
(my husband is wonderful when it comes to helping with the kids. The moment he comes through the door he will take them from me, most of the time, before he has even had the opportunity to shower.
And prior to children my thing would have been quality time together… but now I would rather have him take out the trash… funny how children change us.
Here is why… I spend the day with tiny humans hanging off me, spending playtime together followed by one on one time with each. When the hubby comes home the last thing I need is more time with another human… sounds a little selfish. I know.)
But the trash is full of yesterday’s poopie diapers, snotty tissues, paper towels filled with cat, dog and baby vomit and any other number of disgusting things I have to throw away during the course of my day.
By the next morning it
I have two options…
1. Wait for the kids to nap. If, at this time, I do decide to take the trash out I have to contend with my three stupid dogs which bark the moment I open the door. Series of events to follow… toddler’s woken--> two very cranky miserable children--> one very cranky miserable mom--> one very unhappy hubby just home from work.
2. I can bring them with me. Put shoes on Addison and Jackson, chase Jackson down the entire hallway while hauling yesterday’s over flowing garbage, dodging spiders on the trash shoot, listening to a screaming Jackson refusing to go back into the house.
You can see this is a real pain in the ass chore.
So please honey, the love of my life, please before you come to bed each night or before leaving for work in the morning TAKE OUT THE FUCKING TRASH.