Yesterday morning was FSU's summer graduation ceremony. I spent the morning the same way I have every 14 weeks for the past 4 years. Assigning seats to late arrivals, breaking bad news ("I'm sorry...your GPA does not qualify you for a degree of distinction"), breaking good news ("Your son that you haven't heard from in two days, and you're about to have declared missing? He just arrived....in flip flops and reeking of alcohol." (Good job with him, you two.)) and trying very hard not to throw-up as I assisted hung over graduates in the dark, dirty bathroom stalls typically reserved for basketball referees ("Umm... Can I get you some water? Are you passed out in a pool of your own vomit?").
And that's my job. Well, a part of it. Graduation ceremonies stress me out a little bit, and (aside from eating an entire carton of chocolate chip cookie dough) I've found that a craft project is really the best way to decompress afterwards. So, when I got home yesterday afternoon I decided to do something with the embroidery hoops I bought a while ago because Freya's were so cute.
I didn't know what I wanted to do, so I experimented for a while. And naturally, things got a little messy. Cory was very impressed with my little craft nest/living room. I was surrounded by sheets of felt, buttons, balls of yarn, every scrap of material I own, ribbons, and a warm glue gun. Ah, my craft nest.
Anyway, after way too many combinations of felt, fabric, and horrible attempts at embroidery I found a combination I liked enough to commit to.
At this point Cory says, "So...my friend wants to come over and hang out tonight." And I look at my craft nest which has engulfed the living room. And I look at the dishes which have engulfed the kitchen. And I think about the laundry, which has engulfed our bedroom. And I think, we should probably get the house ready for company then.
And instead we watched another episode of the The Glades on Netflix.
Time slipped by, and about half an hour before his friend was due to arrive, I had resigned myself to the fact that this person was going to witness my every failing as a housekeeper, and I felt okay about it. (It's a home, not a museum, right?).
Without saying anything, Cory gets up, and starts unloading the dishes. Quickly. So, I start cleaning up the craft nest. Quickly. And then he washes the pots and pans while I dry and put them away. Very quickly. And he runs the trash out to the dumpsters, while I vacuum the carpets and make the bed (which distracts from the pile of clean laundry that needs to be folded...so, its kind of a solution.)
And then it was clean. It only took 20 minutes to create the illusion that our apartment always looks like this, and we don't even know any other way to live, and no, I don't have a hoarder-esque pile of scrap fabric hidden away ready to be turned into a beautiful, warm, crafting nest at a moment's notice.
And in the midst of our cleaning spree, I looked at this guy scrubbing the dishes because he knows I really don't like other people to see how many dishes I'm okay with us not washing, and I thought, "Man, I like being married to you."
My dear sweet enabler. I'm looking forward to many frantic cleaning sprees to come.