I admit it. After 13 years, I still remember one off-hand comment. I don't try to -- it's just still there. We had just moved into our HUGE 1200 sq. ft. duplex (huge compared to our 800 sq. ft. apartment). After a few days I spent an industrious evening after work unpacking all of the kitchen. On his way to bed, I gave Troy a tour of my newly organized kitchen, "This is where the spices are, here are the cups, etc." He stared at me (noticing NONE of my wondrous organization!) with a most bemused expression on his face and finally said, "I find this all very amusing from someone who uses the kitchen 3 times a month."
Ahem. I admit it was VERY close to being accurate, but it still irritated me. So, of course, I still remember it. God love Troy, by the next morning when I was STILL mad (I know, there's that whole "Don't let the sun set on your anger" thing -- I have the hardest time with that) he had NO recollection of any of that exchange so I'm sure that 13 years will have done nothing to improve his memory.
Why can't I let this go? Why is it still on my mind? I think about it at least once a week, like I did last night. I spent over 5 minutes in search of one particular dish to put dinner in (I could have given up and used a different one, but they are all in the fridge w/ Thanksgiving leftovers that I should be throwing out, I'm sure). With every cabinet door opened and cabinet searched I got more and more irritated -- thankfully, no one was home. But, my thought 13 years later in reply is, "I cook EVERY night now -- NOW can you pay attention to where to put my dishes/ utensils?" I've mentioned it takes me a solid hour to get dinner on the table and I'm not blaming that on all of my helpers, but I do spend at least 5 minutes every night searching for SOMETHING -- can opener, garlic press, measuring spoons or cups, whatever. Between the kids each unloading the dishwasher and Troy clearing the decks, things can be in any one of 6-8 places, and no one can ever remember what they did with it, or have never seen it or touched it.
So, I figure I have these options before me:
a) Ban anyone and everyone from "helping" (a.k.a. "hiding things") in my kitchen (this option will call to Troy's mind another family member having a foot-stomping, shrieking hissy, "Get out of MY kitchen!!!")
b) Train my family to actually put things where they go.
c) Give up and consider every night of cooking dinner a grand scavenger hunt.
It's gonna have to be c).
