Felix vs. Oscar (aka OCD vs. chill)

Yesterday can only be described as frenzied.  Which is just a nice way to say it was bat shit crazy around my place.  Can you describe a Sunday as bat shit crazy?  Well, I just did.  ‘Cause it was.

We spent the morning at church, and then we ate lunch at a fantastic local Mexican restaurant.  This left Bear and me with just under an hour at the house.  That was barely enough time to finish making replacement rainbow streamers (long story) and review her spring musical script and songs before heading off to her three-hour dress rehearsal.

Sweet Jesus, give me strength.

The rehearsal was somewhat…challenging.  We’ve been working on this thing since January, and there are still a fair number of kids who don’t know their lines or the words to all the songs.  Did I mention this is a musical?  And that would make the songs kind of the whole point?  Yeah.

Two youth choirs are participating in the musical.  The cherub choir is made up of kindergarten and first grade students, and they bring the major cute factor.  However…Following directions? Memorizing songs?  Choreography?  Well, bless their hearts, but these are not among their strengths.

Children from second through fifth grades are in the carol choir; this group is responsible for carrying the bulk of the show, and the fourth and fifth graders bear the heaviest load.  There’s a great deal of dialogue to remember and some of the songs are incredibly wordy, so I’ll be the first to admit that they’re not looking at an easy task.  But even so…today was the dress rehearsal and the kids who knew their lines were clearly in the minority.

I’ll reiterate: we’re performing this musical next week and most of the kids DO NOT KNOW THEIR LINES.  I’m trying to process how this is going to work.  I understand the cute factor can get you through a lot — the oohs and aahs from relatives will most likely drown out any cuss words I quietly utter — but how can we put on a musical when the kids can’t tell the freaking story?!

Anyway, I’ll be the first to admit that I wasn’t in the greatest mood when I finally pulled into the driveway (FOUR AND A HALF HOURS LATER).  I shuffled into the house to find BS chilling in the family room while T-man was camped out on the couch eating and watching tv.  I stood in the kitchen for a moment, took a deep breath, and tried very hard not to scream.

The question that immediately leapt into my head: Is there some kind of special “chores needing completion” alert activated by a uterus?  Why is it that we’re inching up on 7:00pm on a school night, I’m dragging my ass in from the marathon session with unprepared children at church, and I find a dishwasher needing to be emptied, a sink full of dirty dishes, lunches and snacks needing to be packed, and a dinner to make for Bear?  Am I the only one capable of seeing what needs to be done and doing it?!

Sweet mother of god.

I suddenly realized that pajama pants would probably make this entire situation better, so I went to the bedroom to change.  I came around the corner, skidded to a stop, and simply stared.  My mouth may have actually dropped open; it’s hard to say for sure since my cognizant self temporarily separated from my body.

It turned out that BrightSide had been working hard while I was gone.  Cleaning.  Thoroughly.  Half of the dresser.

Oh – kay…

I squinted, thought huh, and turned to get my pajamas.  (Because pajama pants make everything better.)  And that’s when I saw that BrightSide had cleaned that side of the room.  Specifically his bedside table.

Yeah, I’m definitely seeing a pattern here.

So here’s a funny fact about my marriage to BS.  Despite all those hours of premarital counseling and in-depth discussions about fundamental principles, we never once discussed the Felix-and-Oscar effect.  Neatness, organization, cleanliness…all major sources of conflict for roommates, domestic partners, and spouses yet not a single counselor, minister, or priest broached this topic.  Which turned out to be rather unfortunate.

You see, I’d fall under the Oscar category.  Some might call me a bit slovenly; I prefer to think of myself as a relaxed SAHM with too much on my plate to get distressed about a few things piled up here and there.  (Yes, I’m fully aware that this is complete and utter horse shit.  But if the piles aren’t wobbling dangerously then they just don’t register with me.)

BrightSide, as I’m sure you’ve ascertained, leans more toward the Felix mindset.  While he’s clearly not a neat freak (he’d never be able to tolerate living with me if he was), BS is a lot more comfortable in a neatly organized environment.  This is clearly evidenced by the pictures above.

Anyway, I’m sure it goes without saying that pajama pants were the first order of business after registering the changes in our bedroom.  And then I gave BS all kinds of hell for only cleaning his half of the furniture.  This may have involved a promise that the next time I clean our toilet I’ll only feel the need to wipe down the top of the seat, seeing as I don’t lift it and am therefore not responsible for the atrocities often found underneath.

Now to be fair (as I promised him I would), BS has tried to clean for me in the past.  Except this is a problem for my Oscar-self.  He “cleans” (=everything sitting on a flat surface disappears from view), and then I spend the next four days asking where to find stuff.  Nothing pisses me off more than having to say, “that form about T-man’s field trip was in this pile but now it’s all gone!”  Then again, if he doesn’t clean at all I’m accusing him of some crazy ass only-a-uterus-sees-the-chores attitude. Kind of a catch-22, huh?

Sorry about that, man.  I’m totally blaming it on the counselor/minister/priest.  Turns out I had this giant crazy-flag fluttering in the air and none of them spotted it…you ought to get your money back. (wink, wink)

Full disclosure:  BS tells me that he cleaned our bathroom as well.  I can’t speak to this since I’ve avoided that room so far…a girl can only take so much Felix-driven cleaning at a time.  After a certain point, every pristine surface you see practically screams “nana…nana…naaaa-na.”

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