Mom Strike.

After our fun with the littles, I went on strike.

That's right. I quit.  It was Sunday. I cooked some yummy food, I hollered in the basement for the man to clean the kitchen, I made the kid's lunch, I reminded Hubbs the trash needed to go out the next day, I found Munch's clothes for the week, I cleaned our bathrooms and picked up the areas from our fun weekend with the littles.  Then, I headed to bed (shower, phone scrolling, then bed).  Hubbs came up shortly thereafter and we chatted about life... I dozed off and awoke for our typical morning routine where I, like a skilled equestrian, ride Munch to complete each morning task.

"Brush your teeth."

5 minutes later...

 I realize there hasn't been any water running.  "Z, BRUSH your teeth."

5 minutes later...

 "Why haven't I heard any water running?  Brush your teeth!"

She casually responds, "Mommy, I'm pooping."

5 minutes later...

"Are you done yet?  Brush your teeth."

5 minutes later, I enter the bathroom to see her standing at the sink with her toothbrush in hand and her head on the counter NOT brushing her teeth.

Rather than getting ready, I wind up pushing her through the morning routine and leaving in enough to time to take her to school... still wearing my pajamas.  I have to return home to throw my clothes on and, on this particular day, I entered the house to the smell of dirty dishes.  The man didn't wash them??  NOPE.  There they sit.

I was so annoyed.  Dishes in the sink meant I would have to come home from work, CLEAN the kitchen to cook, only to have to clean it all over - you know what?  I ain't.  I won't. I didn't.

I came home that evening.  I cooked our dinner.  I piled MORE dishes in the sink.  Tuesday, I sprang from my bed to see if he - nope.  He didn't wash them.  The dish pile was higher.  "I'll show him," I thought.  I cooked Tuesday, piled the dishes in the sink and went about my nightly routine.  I woke Wednesday to see if maybe, just maybe, he - NO?!

That's it.  I'm disgusted.  How long will these dishes remain piled up before someone does something about it?  You will note that half of our sink is clear in case I need to wash something off to use it.  I could probably fit everything in the other side but, really?! Who has time for that?  #aintnobodygottimeforthat

Anyhoo, pray for me. I made a formal announcement that I was on strike to Hubbs.  He said he'll do the dishes... when he feels like it.

O. OK. I'll wait.

Islanders, this is a no judgement zone, remember?  I'm a keep-it-all-the-way-real kind of gal, remember?

Please keep that in mind as you view the next few pics as this is what I came home to last night.  I enter our home from the garage.  The door made a thud sound because it hit THIS box of workout junk (in the bottom right corner):

Can you see those sneakers? Well I stepped over them to see THIS mess:

O, that? It's his gym shoes on the floor, his work clothes draped over my kitchen chair (on the left), his work socks and shoes (top left), the laundry he took out of the dryer so he could wash his gym clothes (top center) and his latest shipment of protein powder he received that day (center right)...  I just got home from choir rehearsal, the kid was so excited because "Daddy cooked Chik-Fil-A. He's the BEST!" I was seeing red.  BLOOD red.

Sure, I survived the obstacle course this man left for me:

PAUSE. Can you see the powder bag on the counter beside him?  What about the cell phone charger behind him and the protein mix cup?  The man never wears a shirt.  We've talked about this, I know.  What we didn't talk about is how, on this particular night, he removed his shirt and tossed it on the counter behind him.  Gym sweat? On my counter? I could scream.

Add the smell of old dishes, the kid's homework sprawled across the table, the running to-do list in my head and I could be the next star of Snapped.

Now do you get it?  I'm. on. strike... until he washes dishes.

There was, however, a time when I WASN'T on strike and, at least so it seemed, the slob jerk buttface wonderful man I married was neat... well, at least he contained his mess to the man cave.

Please tell me I'm not alone in this struggle... The one where I go on strike and everyone else thinks it's an opportunity for a free-for-all?  You know, where my strike feels like an inevitable punishment for myself...

Have you ever just stopped to see where things fall around you?  This post made me laugh while I typed it... but seriously? I'm sure when I get home, the knot in my throat will return and I'll be ready to go off the deep end!

*Note, this post was previously written. After Scandal, he washed the dishes...  he fussed and whined and complained but the dishes? Clean*

Finally.