Finding Your Niche

Saturday night I went to an all-women's performance of Once Upon a Mattress, in which my sister-in-law played the hilariously mute King. Rac was phenomenal, a true natural at the amount of physical comedic ability required of the role, and it was incredibly thrilling to see her onstage, blowing everyone away. She has a theater degree and writes and all of that, but this was the first time I'd seen her act, and I was SO proud. Still am.

Y stayed home with the boys that night, obviously very excited for the opportunity to cuddle and bond with them. Before I left for the Beverly Hills High auditorium, they were throwing sweatshirts over their pajamas and heading out to Blockbuster for a movie and Ralph's for pasta. I considered calling Y's cell after I left to remnd him to clean up after himself and use paper plates, but thought better of it - control the nagging. They didn't answer the phone all night, and when I got home I found all three tucked into their beds, sound asleep.

It was midnight but I hadn't eaten yet, so I headed down to the kitchen and fixed myself a plate of pasta and Y's out-of-this-world homeade tomato sauce. On the way home, knowing he'd been cooking, I had been terrified of the mess I'd surely be greeted with. Y is not a guy's-guy in the classic sense - he's an amazing cook, he changes diapers, he's as attached to the kids as I am, he's sensitive, he's a bigger feminist than most women I know.

But Y cannot clean. He does not clean, unless under marital duress. He's allergic to all things organized or sanitary, it's like there's a mental block there.

Even the simple stuff, like putting a dirty dish in the sink instead of leaving it on the counter, usually escapes his line of thinking.

He's also not great at finishing a job. When he does change a diaper, the child doesn't usually come out of it with pants on, too. When he does put a plate in the sink, it might have chicken bones on it.

We've had our classic arguments about it, and overall are trying not to criticize each other anymore. To appreciate and focus on the good - which is what I kept telling myself that night, as visions of sticky pots, sauce-splattered counters and crusty plates danced around in my head.

Tonight, however, not only were the boys all fed, clean, and sleeping, but the kitchen? Was somewhat okay. The frying pan was in the sink. The pasta and sauce tucked neatly into tupperware containers in the fridge. There was no visible garbage lying out to piss me off.

And I thought, he thought about me tonight. He made an effort to clean up. And it was for me and me alone, as he has no internal appreciation for tidiness.

It might not sound like much, but to me, it meant a lot. I was touched and pleased. It meant he'd been hearing me.

I sat down and started catching up on the blogs I've been ignoring for weeks and ate and read and ate and read when I suddenly heard, "BOO!"

It was dark and I jumped a mile as I screamed. Y was hiding on the top of the stairs, peering at me through the railing, proud as punch.

"Jerk!" I exclaimed. "What's wrong with you?"

"I've been waiting forever for you to get in bed so I could scare you then," he said by way of explanation.

"I thought you were asleep!"

"I was faking it. And I've been watching you from the top of the stairs for a good five minutes now."

"Y, what is your point?"

"Only that - and you can't even deny it anymore - I so could have been a sniper."

"Well then. Congratulations, honey. You so could have been a sniper."

We cuddled up on the couch to flip channels awhile. I told him about the play, he told me about his evening with the boys. I recognized the kitchen being clean, and he appreciated my appreciation.

"Did you see how everything was put away?"

"I did. And the pan was in the sink!"

"Clean in the sink!"

"It's clean? You washed it, too? I'm in shock. I can't believe it. Someone revive me because I'm feeling...faint..."

"Well," he said, a little sheepishly, "almost clean."

I smiled. "What's almost clean?"

"Well not with soap or anything," I smiled harder, trying not to laugh at his sincerity, "But I did scrub it with water so the shmutz won't stick or anything and it'll be easy to clean later!"

"Y, once you had it in the sink and you went through the effort of scrubbing the pan, why on earth didn't you just use soap and make it entirely clean?!"

"Margo! You know I don't finish things!"

"But you'd be a wicked sniper."

"I was hiding under the covers faking sleep and waiting for you to come back in the room for hours! You don't find that kind of dedication just anywhere these days."

No, my love. You certainly don't.