You see this tool?  I scoffed when my husband brought it home.

But as it turns out, it might just save my marriage.

You see, my husband could be the neatest guy on the planet.  This is not confirmed, of course, but I believe it to be very possible.

I believe that there are essentially two types of people in this world. There are those that put gunky dishes in the dishwasher and those that don’t.

Which one do you think I am? You’ve got it -  I am a gunky girl. That should be no surprise to you at all.

My husband will not tolerate gunk in the dishwasher.  His dishes look so clean when he puts them in that I have actually unloaded the dishwasher by mistake thinking that they were finished.

I try to sneak little peices of gunk in because my thought is that  the WHOLE REASON we HAVE a dishwasher is for it to actually WASH THE  DISHES.

But he believes that they should be clean of gunk before being set into the dishwasher. Gunk free. Spotless.

It has become one of those “things” in our marriage.  It ranks right up there with the cap on the toothpaste. (Which, by the way, is also my issue.)

So when he brought this dish scrubber home, I scoffed at it. I wasn’t going to use it.

But then I tried it.

It is actually…. FUN.

So my husband is happy, I am happy and my kids are also  happy.  No more fighting.  No more bickering.  Just dishwasher nirvana.

I wish I were kidding.

My husband is a good man. He puts up with A LOT.  He and I are opposite in so many ways.

He is a detail man.  An everything-has-a-place-man. An if-you-put-things-right-back-where-you-found-them-we-wouldn’t-have-this-problem-kind-of-man. I am NOT. I try. But I am more of a free spirit when it comes to organization, especially when it comes to housework. And, of course, my husband is essentially right. (Albeit in a housework-utopian-society-kind-of-way.) But, as for me, there is always SOMETHING that comes up to thwart my efforts.

Let’s go on a journey through 10 minutes of the mess and chaos of my life shall we? One example – a pair of my running shoes that has not yet made it back into the closet. So, theoretically, I should have been able to take them off my feet and toss them into the closet. Oh, I mean, lay them gently into the designated running shoe cubby. Yeah.

So here is what happened instead. I took them off…  At that precise moment, my son yelled dramatically from the other room. I sprint over to him and find that he and his brother are pounding each other over a Light Bright design. I settle the argument and notice hundreds of Light Bright pieces all over the floor. Oh dear. (Dad won’t be amused by that.) So we make a game of it and pick them up. In the middle of that the phone rings. It is my friend reminding me it is my turn to bring snack to soccer. I run down the stairs to see if I even have something that would qualify as a snack. Nope. Put it on the list of things to do. I then notice the laundry is finished. I put a new load in and take the other out and begin folding it. Kids come running downstairs and want a drink. I get them a drink. They spill juice everywhere and I clean it up. I begin emptying the dish washer because I can’t even put the juice cups away due to the overflowing sink with dirty dishes in it. I am halfway through this task when hubby comes home.

So this is what my husband sees: Kitchen a mess. Sticky floor. Laundry strewn everywhere. Light Bright pieces not picked up. (Because they decided to dump them out again while I wasn’t looking.) And then, of course, he tripped over my shoes. Yeah, those shoes. The ones that should have been put away as soon as I took them off my feet.

And then he says…. “Jen. Why don’t you just put these away right when you take them off?”