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I hadn’t planned on putting out a book, doing a blog tour, and getting the flu, all in the course of about a month.


My family has pretty much forgotten what I look like.


They’ve also apparently forgotten what chores are, how to shop for groceries, and what dinner is.


Before I let myself drown in guilt (hey I’m Jewish—we know of guilt), I realized wait—it’s okay. I have a husband! A good man, a sweet man, capable of figuring out that children need to be fed, clothes need to be laundered, and the house….well, okay that definitely could use some help.


What do I mean?


Come on. He’s a dude.


My guy sees a sink full of dishes and runs the other way. I truly think that if he sees a clean, pretty kitchen counter, it’s like a switch flicks on in his brain that gives him permission to pull out every dish, utensil, and seasoning we own to make as big a mess as possible. And then pile on even more shit. It’s a territorial thing.


I think the messmaking is part of a man’s Dude Whatnot of Power. It should be written into our vows. Along with the bride saying goodbye to her TV remote and a clean-smelling bathroom. But I digress.


Once JP figured out that not only was I not up to making dinner (um, like…iffy on a good day) but that any chance of me making school lunches, doing laundry, making beds, or well, anything else at all, was zero given that I was an achy, moaning mess, the man totally stepped up.


Always one to put laundry into the washing machine, where it will stay, forever (Mancode, page 55), he actually put it into the dryer! I had to remind him to take it out (and let’s not discuss the tragic lint screen conversation) but it’s alright. I couldn’t be prouder. We’ll tackle folding and putting away when he’s a little older. #babysteps


And the grocery store. (I’m getting verklempt.) He went without a list. This, my friends, is monumental. He remembered my coffee, didn’t call me once, and though he brought home food from China I’ve never seen before, it’s okay. As long as he cooks it, I don’t care. It’s food. (I did check it for lead content and MSG though. We’re good.) It’s important for a man to have his freedom.


I still ended up cleaning the kitchen. I think it was just too overwhelming for him. All those family meals, piling up. His brain went into Manesia mode and he just couldn’t deal. He was a bit wild-eyed at the sheer prospect of having to deal with the dishwasher (what goes where? How much soap?). When a man reaches hombrenosbrainos, you know you need to pitch in at least a little bit. Continue Reading...