Day 12: Acceptance of my quirks

At least once a week, my husband will make a big production about climbing out of bed, stomping into the closet, and slamming his palm down on the light switch to turn it off.  As he marches back to bed, he huffs out a big, frustrated sigh and glares at me.

I had left the closet light on. Again.

It's one of those things that, no matter how many times I'm told, no matter how intentional I try to be about turning it off when I leave, it always manages to stay on.  Personally I think there's a ghost who turns it on when I'm not looking.  There's no way I can leave it on that much.  But apparently I do.  That's "my thing."

Last night, there was an unfortunate spill in our kitchen involving a 44 oz. drink from Sonic.  We spent quite a bit of time, energy and paper towels cleaning it up.  After it was all dry, the husband wanted to wipe up with Clorox wipes so it wouldn't be sticky.  I couldn't blame him.

This morning, I went downstairs and discovered "his thing."  Whenever he cleans, this is how the Clorox wipes end up. Opened. Wipe sticking out.  Drying up.  I huffed out a big, frustrated sigh and slammed my palm down on the lid to close it.

When he came downstairs, I pointed it out to him.  He got that grumpy look he always gets when I call him out on something, and then we both laughed about it.  He smiled and said, "Well, I guess that's 'my thing.' But even after I die, I'll still turn off the closet light for you."

I am thankful that I have a husband who can laugh at the little things that get to us and appreciate that, even though he will be turning off that closet light for eternity, he will always love me every time he does it.