But there are dark times, too. There are some really tough moments that make me question myself as a wife, and some instances where I ask why we ever thought we were compatible. Things don't always work for us.
If you are waiting for me to air our dirty laundry, then you will be waiting a long time. But, I am willing to share a major contention between us: our dirty trash.
Ever since we got married, Caleb and I have had a problem our trash disposal. Kids, no kid—it hasn't mattered. I can honestly say that I have lost sleep over this particular wrinkle in our marriage. We have talked about it constantly, coming up with various ways to work it out; our current practice is that I will bag it up and then Caleb will take it out.
I grew up in a house full of girls, so there hasn't been a "man's work" connotation connected to it for me. Admittedly, before we had kids, I was just lazy. But now that we live in a third-floor apartment with two children two-years-old and under, I find taking the trash out to be burdensome. If Lucy could get down the stairs by herself, I could probably swallow my pride and get it done. If I felt comfortable leaving the kids in the house by themselves for an extended period of time, I wouldn't hesitate to walk down all of the stairs, walk a couple of buildings over to the dumpster, and walk all the way back up the stairs. I could use the exercise.
But I think we are at a stalemate. The picture above is how our laundry/trash room looks this morning. Vertically, it shows all of the trash in its stinky glory. A horizontal picture is more aesthetically pleasing, though.
Garbage bursting out at the seams! And all I'm willing to do is take pictures of it. Hate.