Marriage Material

Chris and I have been married for eight years. We've been dating for eleven. In all of those years of dating and marriage how many times do you think I've been to his parents' home?

The answer is: a lot. A lot of times. Over the course of eleven years. Eleven.

Now, remember that.

Chris and I are a great couple if I do say so myself. We really bring out the best in one another and complement (and compliment) one another's personality quite well.

That said, for eight years Chris has been putting up with my untidiness. Now, don't get me wrong, if you come to our house it will look clean and clutter-free (at least I hope), but if you were to open any closet or pantry you would find disarray. Placing pots and pans back into the cabinet in such a way that they nest with one another rather than crashing out on the next unsuspecting cook has just never been high on my priority list. I just open the cabinet, cram those suckers in there, and shut the door as quickly as possible before they all come clanging out upon my feet. And, for eight years of marriage, it's worked out nicely.

For me at least.

A few weeks ago I was at my in-laws' house. Remember how many times I've been there? A lot. So, here I am at their house for the bazillionth time, and I go to toss something in their trashcan. I open the pantry door for what might be the 10,000th time in my life and suddenly I realize something: everything in their kitchen has it's own place.

*mind blown*

Suddenly, I understood why Chris is always frustrated with our shared bedroom closet. His clothes hang in neat tidy lines organized by color and type. My clothes are organized by "is this too dirty to wear again?" I thought back on how every once in a while he stands exasperated in front of our pantry moaning about how he wouldn't have to reorder everything in there if I would just put things back where they belong. (Things belong somewhere in there? *mind blown*)

Chris grew up in a home where everything had it's place.

Woah.

{Right now my mom is probably reading this and sighing and rolling her eyes. She's spent like half of her life fighting the mess and disorder caused by my dad, siblings, and me. Sorry Moom. Oops. I don't think I ever noticed.}

Chris' mother always says that she raised her boys to be marriage material. She did a fantastic job. I laugh that the only thing I had to teach Chris was how to sew on a button. He insists that he never learned but knowing Dianne (who could write the handbook on how to raise sons who are marriage material) I have a hard time believing that.

So, I spent the morning cleaning out the pantry while Chris slept in (and by that I mean he got to sleep to like 730). Of course, the minute he came into the kitchen I knocked a beer off of the top shelf and it crashed to the floor covering everything in beer and broken glass. But that's neither here nor there. What I'm trying to say is... you should see our pantry. Damn. I'm good.

Then I tackled a spot in our kitchen that we've been calling the "wasted prime real estate" by moving our china to higher shelves and more often used items to the prime real estate.  Damn. I'm really good.

Then I pulled everything out of our closet. And reorganized it. And vacuumed it.

Get ready Chris Duncan, it's the new Jan Brady.

My clothes are now all shoved together and condensed to one part of the closet and organized by... well... not organized. That's really asking too much of me.