Facing My Addiction

Yesterday was rough.  I was restless.  I was on edge.  Everything irritated me, even the sound of my own voice.  Strange things were afoot, and there was a disturbance in The Force.  I couldn’t put my finger on what was wrong, but I knew without a doubt that something was wrong.  Somewhere.

Then… It happened.  I resumed a habit that I hadn’t even realized I’d acquired.  I just kind of started doing it, and suddenly, dare I say miraculously, everything changed. 

My mood lightened.  I could breathe easier.  It felt like a weight was lifted off of my shoulders.  I was even… dancing (my sister just cringed) as my iHome alarm clock shuffled through tobyMac, Journey, Matthew West, Chicago and, of course, Celtic Thunder.

My drug of choice?

Doing the laundry.   And, no, that’s not a euphemism.

Unarch that eyebrow.

Only, it’s not really just laundry.  It’s showing love to The Husband through housekeeping.

Eyebrow down, please.

It’s not as if housekeeping is brand new to me.  I actually love to clean — but I usually enjoy cleaning other people’s homes more.  Ever since I started The Love Dare, though, I realized that keeping our home in order while The Husband is working his tail off for us means so much to him. 

In our home, love is never having to say, “Babe, I’m almost out of shorts.”

I used to just get by with the chores.  I’d do enough so that we weren’t overwhelmed with tasks on his day off or over the weekend.  Or I’d start on things and somehow they’d always have to be finished once The Husband got home.  Then I started to remember what it was like when I worked outside of the home.  Did I want to come home and immediately fold and put away laundry?  Put away the dishes?  Do anything other than sit down and relax for a few minutes, or the whole evening?

NO.

I started to manage my time a little better.  I would reward myself with time online or a nap if I felt I’d accomplished enough.  Then, when The Husband would come home, everything was done.  Sometimes even dinner!  All we had left to do was enjoy our time together as a family.

I became addicted to this way of life. 

Sadly, it took me six years to get to this point, about four of them as a stay-at-home-mom.

Last week, illness ran rampant through our house.  The weekend brought Valentine’s Day festivities, a Sunday filled with church, and Monday was spent celebrating my birthday.  Tuesday and even part of Wednesday were spent recovering. 

By Thursday afternoon I was feeling the withdrawal effects, so it was time to pick up the habit again. 

No rehab for me, thanks.  This is one addiction I don’t want to cure myself of.

It’s hard to say I’m sorry for it, though, because loving The Husband is a hard habit to break. 

And I know you rolled your eyes at that, but I don’t even care.  Of course, I’m also high.  It’s either the love, or too much contact with fabric softener sheets.  Could go either way, really.