Help, Help, My Eyes are Stuck!

I love my honey, but he is a man, after all...

I don’t know if it’s genetics, expectations or something else, but can someone please explain to me why a woman can go through her day, working a ton of hours (either as a stay-at-home mom or working outside the home), cooking and cleaning, falling into bed completely exhausted after everyone else and then getting up before everyone else and doing it all over again…but if a man does a few loads of laundry, it’s necessary to give high praise and act like he’s the freakin’ king of the universe?

*eye roll*

I’m unusually irritable today, so I won’t stay up on my soapbox for very long, but I’m cranky and annoyed by this. I typically don’t mind doing housework. Mostly, I feel like if I’m doing it, then it’s getting done and for the most part, getting done well. But during insane weeks, when I really, really need help, I get upset if I have to ask. If it’s obvious that I’m overwhelmed, wouldn’t it make sense to just do something, rather than wait for me to ask for help, or worse, see everything that needs to be done and ask me if I need help—when I’ve almost finished the darn task anyway? I mean, look in the sink! There are dirty dishes there! Is the floor in need of a good sweeping or mopping? Do it. Don’t ask. Say, “I’m going to do…” And don’t add in the stupid modifier or whatever at the end, like “I’m going to do the dishes...since you’re so busy.” That makes it sound kind of sarcastic. Like, “Oh, you’re busy, so I guess I have to do it.” *eye roll* And then I have to make doubly sure I express my never-ending gratitude so his feelings aren’t hurt that he worked so hard and didn’t get anything in return.

At the end of the day, I usually have about eight (consecutive) minutes to myself, which I spend in the shower. I would love to have a half hour or so to unwind. After I’m done folding laundry at 10:30 at night and stepping over the spouse who’s lying on the floor playing a video game so I can put the laundry away *eye roll*, I just want to close my eyes and go to sleep. But I can’t. I lay awake thinking about all the stuff I didn’t get done and all the stuff that has to get done the next day.

When I was about twelve years old, I remember a boy asking my friend why girls roll their eyes when they get mad. Without missing a beat, she replied, “We’re not really rolling our eyes. We’re doing one of two things. We’re either trying to look up into our brains to see if we can find a reason why you’re so dumb, or we’re raising our eyes to Heaven and praying for God to give you some sense.”

So true. *eye roll* So true.