I mean, yeah, I get a little goofy about how my clothes are hung in the closet and how my shirts are folded so they all fit neatly in the dresser drawer. But I'm not a Nazi. Karen lives with me and doesn't cower in fear that she'll hang a towel the wrong way on the rack, or that I'll suddenly scream "WIRE HANGERS!" like Joan Crawford.
I'm pretty easy to get along with, I think. Although, in all fairness, I guess Karen should publish a blog and tell the real story.
However, I do live in a house with three girls, one teenage and two quite close to the teen years. I feel like I have a pretty good handle on what to expect: a little drama once in a while; a lot of silliness; every toilet seat left down, and the lid up; ponytail holders in every room of the house; regular discussions about wardrobe choices.
I get all that. And you'd think after all these years, I'd be used to the fact that when I want to use the stapler, it won't be in its place. When I need some Scotch tape, there will be an empty roll in the drawer. When I want a Post-it note, there won't be an unused one near the phone, but there will be 50 of them with various scribblings on them plastered all over the playroom walls.
You'd think I'd be used to that.
You'd be wrong.
See, I have simple needs. I want to know that if I need a ruler, it will be in the drawer where we keep the ruler. If I want to staple, or tape, or -- gasp -- punch a hole, I want the stapler, tape and hole punch to be in their cozy little home, waiting anxiously for me in their smoothly sliding drawer, saying, "Yes, Rich! Here we are. Please use us efficiently in a function for which we were created!"
I don't want to open the drawer and hear, faintly in the distance, "Help us, Rich! We've been confiscated once again and left to decay here in some dark place that we can't really describe...because we're office supplies and we don't have eyes!" Of course, they don't have voices either, and by now you're thinking perhaps I should talk to my family physician about a healthy dose of Haldol.
In any case, I don't think it's too much to ask to have my trusty office supplies at the ready when I want them. I've been willing to share, always on the condition that the borrower (and when I say borrower I mean wily Smith daughter) return said office necessity to it's appropriate location.
That rarely, if ever, happens.
So, I've taken drastic measures. There are now some pens, some Post-its, some rulers, some tape, some markers even, that are exclusively mine. They are not for sharing. These special items have now taken up residence in the Dad drawer.
They are not for general use. They are mine. When I want some tape. It's there. If I need to staple, my sturdy friend from Swingline is within my reach.
Have I gone too far? Perhaps.
But they drove me to it. This is what I've come to.It's not pretty. But it is handy.
4 comments:
This is *completely normal and healthy* Rich, take it from me. I don't need labels, I have evidently instilled the fear of God into my family about touching certain drawers. Anybody who thinks there's something wrong with protecting precious stationery and office supplies from their children doesn't have a proper respect for papergoods and their sundry accessories and should be taped down to their seat and forced to staple papers with a quality stapler until they repent.
Crack me up! I'm soooo going to have one of those here soon. I'll just take your girls though and then you can have your stuff ALL over without concern :)
So hilarious! But oh, I am one of them, it has been years since I have seen a hole punch. The challenge is how do I save myself from me? ~Misty
This is hilarious! This occurrences happen in our house as well but in more of a domi no effect. For example, I take something of Brandon's and Carlee takes it from me so at any moment Brandon could be yelling at me or I could be yelling at Carlee. You should really write a book or a column at least! Love it!
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