Love to Hate

I love Mike very, very much.

But that doesn't mean there aren't things he does that drive me nuts. There aren't that many, but there are a few.

A few months ago, the Edmonton Journal called and asked the person on this side of the phone if we might be interested in receiving the paper every day. If it had been me on the phone, the answer would have been a swift and sure "no", and the conversation would have ended quickly. However, as fate would have it, Mike was on the phone, and was excited to tell me that we would soon be the recipients of the paper every day.

And so, a few mornings later, we heard the heavy footsteps of someone coming onto our front porch and the recognizable squeak of our mailbox lid opening and closing which could only mean one thing. Mike rushed out to get the paper, sat down on the couch with his coffee and morning cereal (see here for the evidence) and was very content. Since then, this has become the morning ritual with a bit of variety, but generally it stays the same.

Which is all great. I'm happy that Mike loves to read the paper in the morning. But what drives me nuts is this:

Why, oh why, does there need to be a pile of newspaper at the foot of the couch every morning?

(and, this routine is often repeated in the evening with other reading material, except there ends up being a pair of socks on the floor, only to be found in the morning along side the pile of newspaper)

In the end, it gets cleaned up (sometimes by him and sometimes by me), so it really isn't that big of a deal. And truth be told, if it was Mike writing this post, there would be things that drive him nuts about me.

We all need a little bit of crazy in our lives each day, I guess. And most days, as I am throwing the pile in the recycling bin, I can think of Mike, smile a little and my days brighten a bit.

Definitely something I love to hate.