Why being married sucks...

(No, Heather W., this is not a cry for help.  Do not pick up your phone to call a divorce attorney.)

So, Dan is my biggest fan.  Being my biggest fan, he is also my biggest critic.  After yesterday's blog post (don't try to look for it, I deleted it) he said "are you sure about that?" in that luring way that made me think he knew something I didn't.

Apparently he did.

I wrote from my heart... and apparently scared people that something in my life was falling apart (which it often is), so I just deleted it.  End of story.

Tonight, Dan is in even more trouble.  I'll get there... but let me give you some background:

For years now, I've had a recurring dream that we have an entire wing of our house that we don't use.  Sometimes in the dream I'm living back in the RMH and if you go through the guest room, you find this hidden wing.  Sometimes it's our current house, and I find out there's a whole 'nother area that we don't actually know about.  It's magical.  And, I won't lie, when I wake up I'm often disappointed that I don't have that space.

I'm not psychiatrist, but I think that dream stems from the fact that I have a WHOLE FLOOR of my home that doesn't get properly "used".  Downstairs we have two enclosed rooms (and some bonus storage under the stairs) that end up being junk rooms.  One is a room purely for storage... it has been less than functional for the nearly 3 years we've been here.  One is a random room that houses our treadmill and Ms. Pac-man game and liquor cabinet and gift closet.  (This sounds like the perfect room, huh?)  Recently it's where Dan's mom unloaded boxes and boxes of his childhood crap (don't hear me say that my mom hasn't already done that same nasty trick) and our other stuff has been just, well, cluttered on top of that.

So today, on the perfect day for such a task, I conquered the downstairs rooms.  If I were cool, I would show you a before, during, and after picture.  However, I was so overwhelmed and embarrassed by the "before", I wouldn't let the paparazzi downstairs to capture it in all it's glory.  The "during" was one giant purging and sneeze fest.  And now the "after" is, well, still "during" to be honest.  While I will take some time away for it for now, it will need some attention later.  But, all that said, I spent over FIVE HOURS pouring through the crap of my Americanized Hoarding Pack Rat Emotional self and could not feel better about that time.

While all that was happening, Dan was upstairs with Elizabeth... watching TV, reading books, watching videos to prep her to ride "Test Track" in a few weeks, baking homemade cookies, playing dolls (don't tell him I told you that), playing Jenga, and being the recipient of loads and loads of unexpected kisses.

For sure, I chose to be downstairs cleaning.

And, for sure, I am jealous of Dan's day.

Now, 60% of the time, Dan goes to work and leaves me to have my own days with E.  However, I live by lists... and if I took entire days doing what he did today, we would run out of groceries, never have clean clothes, never have paid bills, and lose touch with all of our family and friends.  But why can't I grasp the simplicity of how he chose to spend his day and at least have more days that are kinda like that?

Here's the rub: given the chance to do today over, I would still choose to clean downstairs.  Seriously, people, it's been YEARS in the making... and it affects my stress level constantly... but why do I feel as though I am talking about both sides of my mouth here?

So, with an exhausted mind and body, I went to bed before Dan did.  I grabbed my book (an excellent read that I bought someone for Christmas and they've already passed back to me!) and crawled in bed... and soon after fell asleep.

Here comes the hard part: Captain Dan, unaware that I am asleep (as I am still in the "reading" posture) comes in and loudly says "Have you looked outside lately?!?!?!?"  (He wanted me to check out the snow... nothing major.)

Um, nope.

Because I was asleep, dummy.

He apologizes, brushes, flosses, gets in bed, and within minutes, begins to snore.

And me?  Well, I'm now awake.  His intrusion in my dreamland has left me WIDE awake.  Left with the only logical thing to do: to blog about how much being married to him sucks.  Because it does.  It sucks to be married to a man who loves my daughter, who will constantly be her prince as she plays princess, who will allow her to pick her own ingredients for their homemade cookies, who disciplines lovingly, who helps her clean her room when she can't figure out what she's missed, who reads my blog and questions whether or not I meant to say something in the way in which I did... wait... I guess it doesn't suck.  My bad.

This post, however, will have to wait to get his discerning eye until the morning... when he wakes up... because HE IS ASLEEP AND I AM NOT.  Right, he sucks again.

I'm off to finish my book... stupid marriage.