Since I'm currently The Girl Buried Under Her Psych Homework David has decided to take on more of the household chores. I didn't ask him to do this, it was his idea. My head's still spinning at the thought of him learning where we keep the broom.
I tried to get him to babysit my blog for me a little bit, so its not so neglected. But he claims my followers don't want to read ten posts about the Cowboys. I say let them decide for themselves.
He has pledged to help out more around the house to possibly lessen the load of work that I have to do. Housework is not something I really spend that much time on, because my house stays pretty clean with minimal effort. As long as everyone who's old enough to know how picks up after themself we manage to keep everything pretty orderly.
Laundry on the other hand, is the mountain I don't want to even attempt to climb. I hate folding laundry. It is my nemesis. No matter how small the amount or how cute the clothes it contains, I loathe it.
The following information is 100% true. Names have not been changed to protect anyone's identity.
David did a load of laundry. It happened. He did it all by himself and even put the clothes in the dryer. But he didn't check the pockets, so I ended up fishing his wallet out mid-cycle. That's not what's important here. He did laundry. He acknowledged that clothes do not magically appear in the closet/dresser clean and folded. He even folded them and put them away.
His game is officially stepped up. He is washing dishes and changing ladies into pajamas left and right. And I do appreciate it. Just not the way he constantly brags about it. Look at that. Steppin' it up. Another instance of steppin' it up. There's Dave again, steppin' it up.
I get it. You did some housework. Go pat yourself on the back somewhere else.