When I realised I complain recreationally

Have you ever been unsure whether you just like to complain or if you genuinely have a reason?

In the house, I do the majority of things like cooking and cleaning; I have never particularly minded, but just recently it is really beginning to irritate me. I live with three grown-ass adults, so why am I the only one who sees things?

I hate washing the pots at night time. By the time we have got home from work, caught up on all of our days, had dinner, the last thing I want to do is clean the kitchen and wash the pots. So, as gross as it might be, I do them in the morning before work; I do like to come home to a clean kitchen.

A quick yet nourishing start to a busy morning with a bowl of granola topped with fresh bananas and berries.

My morning routine. Get up and dressed, make the bed because how can you expect to have a good day if you can’t even be bothered to make the bed. Start the day as you mean to go on. Wash the pots, clean the kitchen, make my lunch, have a wash, tidy any toys away and leave for work. I have done this routine for so long that I have stopped clock-watching. So why do people feel the need to go in the bathroom at my allocated time? Don’t they realise that if I do not go in then, I’m late?

Now we have never particularly spoken about who has what time in the bathroom during the morning; I have never really felt the need to. I have always worked around what everyone else does; this is probably where I go wrong. My lad gets up and uses the bathroom as soon as he opens his eyes; my daughter has her breakfast first, and my fella uses it last minute right before he has to leave. If I can get in just after my lad, whilst she is finishing her breakfast, I am laughing. So why does my fella sometimes decide that he’s going in then, and still not brush his teeth? Does he do this just to be irritating? Because he will still want to go in it when he normally does, so now I have to juggle my morning routine differently and be late for work.

As he leaves, he kisses me on the cheek and says,

“Did you not sleep well? You look irritated; hopefully your mood improves later.”

I could scream!

I was perfectly fine until he went into the bathroom during my time; I even told him, and he just laughed. I swear he thinks I am joking. I am not; it drives me insane.

Celebrating a household chore success with a sparkling tropical drink.

Occasionally he gets up and does the pots for me, and I moan about it. I am my own worst enemy; rather than thinking that’s great, thank you, I am so grateful. I can't help but think, welcome to my world. Gold star for you, you washed the pots wow, congratulations. Something every household has to do, and you want me to acknowledge it. Sometimes I struggle to contain my thoughts, so I start commenting that he has not cleaned the side properly. Hold on a minute,

he has done the pots to be nice, to save me from doing them, and he is genuinely trying to be nice. I wish I didn’t feel so ungrateful, and what's worse is that I really do complain recreationally and sometimes I feel that this ungratefulness is valid. That is awful when he really believes that he is helping.

We tend to do the laundry at the weekend; I always say I should do some in the week, but it just never really happens. Everyone has their own laundry basket because the dirty clothes kept jumping out of the one in the bathroom. So at least when the clothes end up near the basket I don’t have to see it. Girls are so much worse than boys for this, although once the clothes are washed and put on their beds, it takes my lad about two to three weeks to put them away. Why?

I put both of ours in the wardrobe. I don’t think he knows what one is. I do sometimes wonder if he thinks it is just part of the wall.

Especially when he asks, “Where is my t-shirt?”

I reply, “In the wardrobe”

and he shouts back, “Where?”

Seeking solace when you live with stupid at the quaint countryside church surrounded by lush greenery and ancient stonework.

Does everyone tend to have allocated jobs, jobs where you haven’t been told that is what you do, but if you don’t do them it doesn’t happen. I tested this theory out once. Everyone went hungry that day, except my lad who decided he wasn’t playing and went to his girlfriend's for dinner. I came home from work; the house seemed trashed, and I wasn’t feeling appreciated, so I decided dinner was someone else's job. I had spoken to everyone before this and said it was about time they all helped around the house more, so this wasn’t completely out of the blue. It got to about 7 pm, and no one had said or done anything, so to give them a chance, I told everyone that I wasn’t eating tonight due to the big lunch. My lad understood straight away, without blinking, he said,

“I’m off out to my girlfriend's; I think I am going to have dinner there.”

The other two just said, “OK.”

A bit later on, my fella asks, “What's for dinner?”

“What do you mean, I’m not eating?”

“Yes, I know, but I have still got to eat.”

“Are you for real?”

“Yes, I’m hungry.”

Ok then, I went to the kitchen and started slamming about whilst cooking the dinner. I was seething; I don’t know about the potatoes boiling, but my blood was. My daughter comes in absolutely oblivious and asks,

“Do you want me to do anything?”

“Yes, finish the dinner.”

Are they both for real, or am I getting angry over issues that aren’t actually there? I have mentioned this since and said how much this annoyed me, but nothing has really changed; my daughter does make sure she cooks once a week now, which is amazing. If I tell my fella he is cooking tonight, we have a takeaway, although he does save recipes on the Alexa for later, but later is yet to come.

A classic motorcycle parked on a city street, radiating a sense of adventure and freedom that brings joy to its owner.

I do think I am becoming rather petty when it comes to putting things away. I know it is wrong, but I do need the occasional win, the walk away smiling, one to me, these small little pointless victories that keep me sane.

Whilst I am sat writing this, he is upstairs looking for his motorbike boots. They aren’t in the bedroom; they are where they have lived since he brought the bike, but I am going to sit here and wait until he asks. He comes down the stairs.

“Where are my braces?” Not what I was expecting,

“They are either on your chair or under your suit that is waiting to be put away.”

He comes back down looking all pleased with himself and stands right next to me to show me he has found them; he is so close he is practically touching me, just holding the braces out to me. I’m like, “Great, you found them.” I don’t really know why he is holding them out to me; then it twigged. He wants me to put them on him, he is still just standing there, proud as punch, looking at me. I have to tell him now,

“Your boots are in the pantry.”

The cleaning fairy strikes again with a bucket full of colourful cleaning supplies, ready to tackle any mess.

I am now going to clean up the bike cleaning kit and stand from the maintenance he did earlier, put the hose pipe and brush away from when he cleaned my van earlier, and clean the BBQ from yesterday that he didn’t get round to. I will leave his models on the dining table though because me might paint some more in the week now he has some new brushes.  

OMG I swear I like the sound of my own voice. I have turned complaining into a recreational sport.