The Rules

We have some new rules in the little green house on 21st Avenue. They're designed to keep me from going insane. (These are not the same as the guidelines I've had to put in place regarding the Great Sperm Search of 2005. the ones meant to keep our second child from going insane. Case in point: No schizophrenic sperm.)

Judybat, you see, is a very task-oriented individual. And on most days, she's got a long, well-thought-out list of tasks for me. A list she feels the need to present pretty much constantly. I say that with love. And irritation.

After some recent tension -- me snapping, her barking, The Boy crying, the dogs howling -- we've implemented some new restrictions. They go as follows:

1) There will be no telling Anna Ray all the things she must do in any given day before her first cup of coffee.
2) There will be no asking Anna Ray what she wants to eat for dinner during breakfast or brunch, and especially not before breakfast or brunch.
3) There will be no presentation of the day's "To Do" list during a meal, given that the sudden tension can impede digestion.
4) Bathtime is for relaxing. Thus, there will be no conversation of all the things Anna Ray failed to do that day during her time in the tub.
5) Bedtime is for sleeping, mostly. Thus, there will be no talk of the following day's "To Do" list once Anna Ray has entered the sleeping zone.

This all seems perfectly reasonable to me, given how many compromises I've made in this otherwise healthy relationship. (See: The Bathroom, My Lack of Privacy.) I also think it gives JudyBat plenty of time to remind me -- notice I didn't say anything pejorative, like, say, "harp at me," "nag me," "slowly but purposely drive me out of my mind" -- of all ways I can be a helpful and responsible partner in this, our happy home.