The universe has good news for the lost, lonely, and heartsick.
The sugars are here, speaking straight into your ears.
I'm Steve Allman.
I'm Cheryl strayed.
This is dear sugars.
Oh dear song, won't you please share some little sweetness with me?
I check my bell vibes every day.
Oh, and the sugar you see in my way.
Dear sugars, I don't have a huge burning question, but I'd like to figure out how to get my husband to understand emotional labor without sounding like I'm just complaining.
He has come a long way, but I'd love advice about how to get him to be more empathetic and to understand that being in charge of providing the food, clothes, doctors, medicines, activities and holidays, our two children and our pets, takes a toll.
When I complain of being mentally exhausted because of how much I do, my husband's typical response is to tell me about all the work he does around the house.
I'm sad to say that we conform to gender roles when it comes to the division of labor, much to my chagrin.
Perhaps an example would help.
This is my morning.
I get up at the same time as my children, who are now twelve and 14, as I have done since they were born.
I help them with their breakfast and lunches, feed both of our dogs, and make sure they go to the bathroom before they're crated for the workday.
Meanwhile, my husband, who has, quote, trouble getting out of bed, likes that I wake him with a kiss as the three of us leave so he can get ready for work all by himself.
One recent morning I'd had two grumpy kids and our sink, which is literally 2ft from the dishwasher, was filled with the dishes from the food eaten by my family after I'd cleaned it up after dinner the night before.
This is a huge pet peeve of mine.
It irritates me to no end.