A week ago, I was like, “Well, it’s just hard to make progress on anything when we spend 5 hours a day cleaning and picking up the house.”

(I was talking to my wife because who else would I be talking to?)

Her: “We do not spend 5 hours a day cleaning and picking up the house.”

Me: “We 100% spend *AT LEAST* 5 hours a day cleaning and picking up the house. One. Hundred. Percent.”

Her:

Her, a few days later: “We 100% spend *AT LEAST* 5 hours a day cleaning and picking up the house.”

To be clear (as I think past roommates/wives will attest): I’m not OCD. I don’t insist on made beds or shoes off or spotless windows.

5 hours is like what it takes to keep the house from collapsing in on itself. Like, the *barest minimum* required to live not in a barn.

There is no point to this thread.

No revelation or moral.

It’s just to say that if you, too, have grabbed your beautiful, monstrous children by their shoulders and said (softly because it’s scarier) through gritted teeth “stop. making. messes.” I AM RIGHT THERE WITH YOU.

Well, I’d love to stay here and chat, but the goddamn dishes aren’t going to goddamn put themselves away.

Again.

Goddamnit.