How I Know I’m NOT The Maid

We are once again preparing to go on a little trip.

BUT this time it’s ON!  It’s ON!  Room service.  In a waterfront room.  With an awesome indoor pool and towel service!!!!

Please pause for the sweet sound of angels singing. . .


Even though I tell myself not to get all amped up about these excursions, I do.

Yes.  I’m super excited to make some memories BUT ultimately I know I’m going to have to bear the brunt of forgetting something, or failing to remember to do something. . .

I think this is how it’s supposed to work right?  For every Mom EVER.

So once again, I got all the logistics in order.  I had the reservations linked to our rewards card.  I had the dog walkers lined up.  I had swim diapers in order.

I remembered where Chris placed his own swim trunks because in his words, “I’m putting my swim trunks in this location and I’m telling you this now so when I start complaining about how I can’t find my swim trunks, you can remind me.”

Seriously.  That happened.  I’m supposed to remember this shit.

At any rate, the house was a bit messy.  Not horrible mind you.  Just a little eck.  It’s just that I can’t vacuum while Mac’s awake OR asleep so I do a lot of manual sweeping and mopping.  It’s not optimal, but it’s better than nothing.

Yet when Chris came home this evening, it went a little something like this:

Me:  “I was going to clean a little better, but what’s the point really?  I can just do it when we get home.”

Chris:  “Well, if you don’t clean, it will keep building up.”

Me:  Oh, you mean like my resentment?

I pause wondering if he’ll offer to vacuum half the house or something. . .


“Ok.  Well, I’m happy to do more than half-ass it.  I’m going to take the vacuum upstairs.  Can you please keep Mac distracted down here?”

Chris:  “Wait.  Can I change clothes, finish my beer, and use the bathroom first?”

Ok.  In his defense, I should have honored those simple requests.  He had been at work all day.  We were both tired.  Getting ready for vacation is a challenge for everyone and we are a team. . .

BUT instead of being reasonable and accommodating or even expressing my frustration in a constructive manner, I just went a little mental. . .In my head. . .because that’s how I roll. . .


You have HUGE BALLS even asking if you can finish your beer first.  You make me want to cry.  Can’t you tell I’m exhausted (and lazy)?  Now watch me very dramatically drag the vacuum up two flights of stairs while you enjoy your frosty beverage and build block towers with our adorable son.  You can jam it.  

You wouldn’t make the MAID want cry would you?!


Come to think of it, you should probably clean your own (alleged) urine off the toilet seat.



I know this Dear Husband, because you would NEVER ask the maid to remember where your swim trunks are. . .or make her all passive aggressive nuts in her head with your “unreasonable” demands. . .

You would probably thank the maid for her hard work and dedication.  But I’ll bet all the thanks I get this evening involves your attempts to be all “friendly” once I collapse into the bed exhausted from dragging this fucking vacuum around.

You wouldn’t hump the Maid’s leg would you?!  Wait.  Don’t answer that. 

Hear me LOUD AND CLEAR:  I’m definitely not the maid.  

And if you need further proof, Husband,  the maid would never be tempted to strangle you in your sleep. . .

*Yes, I vacuumed.  Yes, I mopped.  Yes, I cleaned the bathrooms.  Yes, Chris did a great job keeping Mac occupied while I did it – and I KNOW that’s no small task.  Yes, I appreciate all he does.  Yes, I adore him.  And NO, I’ve never honestly been tempted to strangle him in his sleep. . .We all know I’d NEVER get away with it.


4 thoughts on “How I Know I’m NOT The Maid

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s