Tate and I seem to have the same fights over and over, sort of like some jerk recorded us arguing almost twelve years ago and presses play every few days.  Most of these fights are ridiculous and minor, but when you have the same fight enough times, it eventually feels like a MAJOR EVENT.

Three day weekends seem to magnify these MAJOR EVENTS minor fights.   Stupid three day weekends and their empty promises of relaxation and family harmony.  Hmph.  As if.

We own a blue, heat resistant spatula that we always use to cook eggs.  My wonderful husband almost always cleans the kitchen after these special weekend breakfasts, which is, yes, wonderful.  Except that it’s not wonderful when I’m emptying the dishwasher later and find that the blue spatula is still covered in egg.  This has happened every time he’s been in charge of “cleaning” since we got the spatula as a wedding gift in 2001.  I’ve tried explaining (Tate would say nagging.  Potato, pot-ah-to) that the blue spatula must be free of all egg debris prior to it’s insertion in the dishwasher otherwise my head explodes and I become unable to fulfill my wifely duties.

There has been no change in his behavior.  I’m starting to think my tactic isn’t working.

Tate is addicted to soft beverages.  Every morning I find at least two empty cans of Pepsi One sitting suspiciously around the house.  It’s suspicious because I’ve told (nagged?) Tate that when he leaves his empties around the house for me to throw away, I feel like an unappreciated, yet well-trained monkey.  I’ve tried just leaving the soda cans out for him to throw away, but I just end up having twice as many to throw away the next morning.  Threats and passive aggressive text messages go ignored.

Whenever I get on my phone or on the computer, or if I’m immersed in a good book, I’ve been told that I completely block out everything around me.  According to Tate, I’m very good at appearing to listen, nodding, even responding appropriately.  I don’t even realize that we’ve had a conversation until later when Tate brings up something that we allegedly talked about.  (I swear this is entrapment!) The disagreement almost always turns into a full-on argument about the time I spend clicking away on my phone/computer and I get defensive and Tate gets all, “why are you so defensive,” and then I get all screamy about the importance of Words with Friends.

Every night after the kids are finally bathed, read to, tucked in, watered, supplied with specific, hard to find bedtime toys, kissed, kissed again, hugged, hugged again, Tate and I settle on the couch to battle over the remote control and television volume.  Whomever is in charge of the remote control seems to feel that the television show chosen is the only thing worth watching at that moment.  Honestly, neither of us is usually very willing to consider the other’s viewing interests.  I like to watch House Hunters at a nice, low volume.  Tate likes to watch Shoot Em’ Up gun shows at blaring levels.  I’m sure he’d say that I watch Crap and Drivel at ear deafening volumes, and that he watches Important Educational Shows about Home Defense at a comfortable volume.  (He’s completely wrong, but whatever.)

I’m looking forward to the day when I’ll laugh about how ridiculous these tiffs are, which will probably be when I’m old and rich enough after winning the lottery to afford someone to come in and clean up after Tate, and deaf enough not to care that Tate loves to watch the TV with the volume as high as it will go.

What ongoing fights do you have with your spouse/significant other/partner/[insert politically correct terminology here]?