I freely admit that I like being right. My way or the highway, baby. Parenting has been a test of compromise, but I think we're doing okay. I decided very early on that while Hubby might not do things the same way as me, it doesn't make him wrong, and perhaps I should just shut up and let him do it his way. Otherwise, I might end up doing everything myself. Not to say I've always held my tongue, of course.
I didn't realize just how often I assumed everyone did things the same way as me until I got married. Turns out, my way, the right way, is not necessarily the same way as Hubby's. I tried to teach him, but he's surprisingly stubborn. I patiently explained that when I am sleeping, we all should be sleeping. When I am awake, well, it's obviously time to be awake! Ten years later, I'm still working on that lesson.
The dishes should be done after each meal, at the minimum. That way the kitchen is all clean and sparkley, and the next meal can be prepared in an orderly and tidy fashion. Hubby insists that once a day, after the last meal, is really the only time to do dishes. He saves them all up, lets everything get crusty and nasty, and cleans in one big swoop. I would complain, but hey, he's doing the dishes.
I like to have a centerpiece on the table. Fresh flowers, a doily, whatever. Hubby cannot stand it. We can spend weeks putting on the flowers/taking the flowers off before saying a word to each other about it. I'd like it noted that he generally wins this particular battle.
You would think that he'd be grateful to have someone like me around all the time, to show him the correct way to fold towels, organize the cupboards, and shovel the walk. He has never seemed grateful, however. He never even says "Thank-you." He even acts....irritated. Today, I got an inkling why.
Girl Terror came stomping down the hall from the playroom. "Mummy." (sigh) "You mixed up the toy bins! Again! The blocks go in the blue bin, the dress up clothes go in the turquoise bin. Now I have to go fix them!"