My wife is a funny woman. I have been in love with this woman for over 17 years and I want to be with her till the day I die. Chances are I will die first, so saying till the day she dies wouldn't apply. Give or take a few years, she only has to put up with me for maybe 40 more years? After that, she can get married to whomever she likes, as long as he's rich.

We have two sinks in our master bathroom. Hers and mine. My sink, or at least the one that is designated as my sink, has a handful of things on the counter. Mouthwash, pills I have to take to live 40 more years, electric razor, my cologne and that's about it. Her side of the bathroom has approximate 30 times more stuff on it and I honesty don't know what most of it does besides cause us to be late to places.

Sometimes, because she's a girl, her stuff flows over to my counter. Like when she "saves me 100s of dollars" by doing her own nails. I'd like to point out that our sink areas don't connect and that they are more than 5 feet from each other. Her stuff doesn't just overflow to my area, it migrates like birds in the winter. I don't care because I am not using the space, I just find it humorous that someone half my size needs 30x the stuff to get ready. I have a daughter, so I am going to assume that things are only going to get worse in a few years.

I have had this "thing" since college, where I will drink out of the same cup for a 24hour period. I don't want to dirty dishes or dispose of multiple cups in a day, so I leave my cup on the kitchen counter next to the fridge. Yes, I also drink several different beverages in a day, all out of the same cup. I know for a fact, even though we have a huge kitchen with 5 different counter spaces, that this 16oz reusable plastic cup from a BBQ place we occasionally eat at drives my wife nuts. She may not always physically show her hatred for this cup, but more often than not, she will make a point to acknowledge it in some way.

"How old is this one"? (Sarcastic tone).

"You finished with it"? (Frustrated tone)

Sometimes it's non verbal. Sometimes she pushes it so far into the corner of the counter and fridge area that I almost forget it's there. 5 counters in the kitchen and whatever space my cup takes up is always a burden to her and could be the cause of all that is wrong in the world. It's small, but in the world of things she must tolerate, this thing is the size of King Kong. Doesn't she know that I'm helping the environment and giving her far less things to wash? (I don't load the dishwasher properly, I'm a man)

Why is it a burden?

Because it's MY clutter. MY thing. That cup is a part of who I am and what I am about. You're not going to convince me, after 20+ years of cup recycling, that the cup next to the fridge is ruining the world we live In. People don't understand it and it doesn't fit into her plans or life; it's frowned upon. To be fair, for the most part, she rolls with the punches, but the cup makes for a perfect jump off point for this chapter.

A girl I dated for a short time in college couldn't get past that I was Catholic. She didn't say it, but she showed it. She was Southern Baptist and believed that asking me questions about my religion, in a somewhat condescending tone, was a way to learn more about my church. Judging and questioning, although in the same ballpark I guess, are nowhere near the same. I didn't care about her religion (and honestly I'm not the best Catholic) because it wasn't a sticking point for me in life, but for her it was certainly a line in the sand when it came to moving forward in our relationship. It's something she didn't "do" and that made it strange and wrong. A part of her believed, since she wasn't Catholic, nobody else should be. I did get to third base though and no, I didn't go to confession afterwards. (Again, I'm not the best Catholic).

A little while ago, I asked a friend/mentor of mine to read some chapters from #Tryharder and possibly give me an endorsement for the book. This man is someone I have known for a good while and is a pretty big deal in my industry. Having his support and being able to use that support in my marketing would be a huge opportunity and could increase the overall exposure of the book. He read through the pages and really enjoyed the message and the theme of the book. He sited examples of great takeaways and the potential impact of those takeaways. He was excited to share his feedback, but at the end of his praise he said this...

"With all that being said, I cannot support your book or encourage others to read it because it contains swear words".

Because he doesn't swear, he couldn't endorse the book or understand anyone that uses those words. Swearing, like a cup on the counter for my wife or Catholicism for the girl in college, was his line in the sand.

Well, Fuck it. I still respect him, but I found his logic troubling since he is a fan of mine and the book is a reflection of who I am. Hate the sin (although not a sin) and not the sinner I guess?

Let it go. You can't will and pray people into a direction. You can only hope they eventually find where they are supposed to go in life and do so on their own timeline. You can open as many doors as you want, but nobody can make them enter. You can't hold the world to the standards and restrictions that you put upon yourself, especially when it comes to little things like what you drink out of, how you pray or the words you choose. #Tryharder to leave those judgmental restrictions for the bigger and more important things in life. You know like murder, infidelity and wether or not you put ketchup on hot dogs. (For the record only communists put ketchup on hot dogs).

4am in the freaking morning one of the smoke detectors decided to let us know that it needed a battery.

This stuff never happens at 4pm or at a time when I happen to have the ladder in the house. Like a hungry newborn baby, these little bastards want to be changed at 4am, after a night when you stayed up a little later than usual and felt you could sleep in because the next day is Saturday.

I waited it out. I tried. I am guilty in doing this with our kids, especially when they shout "I can't find my Woobie", only to realize, as I walk into the room, that they rolled over on it. Because it's easier to shout than to actually look for it, they yell for one of us. It's funny, I'm actually the more patient parent, but the kids are gluttons for punishment and mistakenly say the word "mommy" before they say what the issue is. The problem with mommy is that, if she is forced to make the trip upstairs, everyone in the house is going to pay. With me, I take on the task as quietly as a 200 pound man can tip toe up 15 stairs and into a kid's room. At 4am my petite wife is the size of and is as loud as a T-Rex.

So after fighting it for 45 minutes, I got up, grabbed the few 9 volt batteries we actually had in the house (you always have batteries, but never have the batteries you need) and headed upstairs with a Disney princess flashlight. I also never have the flashlight I want...

The hunt began.

We live in a two story 3600 square foot house with lots of tile and tall walls. These factors make it difficult to pin point the origin of almost any sound, especially one that pings like a submarine and only makes a noise once every 60 seconds. You basically have to be right under the smoke detector to hear if it's the one with the issue. By process of elimination, I could rule out the one in the downstairs living room. It was still missing a battery from the last time this happened and I ended that search with a "fuck it" as I ripped out the battery and never replaced it. I'm so YOLO that I didn't even bother to close the little plastic door on that one. Fires are just going to have to happen upstairs.

I proceeded to do the pull up a chair (again, the ladder is in the garage), stand under the detector and wait for a flashing light or that submarine ping sound routine. Over and over again I did this in every room of the house. I didn't do this once, each potential smoke detector culprit got checked twice, and two of them got checked 3 times. I gave those two the benefit of the doubt and changed them anyway, only to have the ping sound happen again as I closed the little plastic doors.

It was now 5:30am on a Saturday morning. Fuck it. I tossed the princess flashlight and the batteries on the counter and I fell back into my bed. I knew I wasn't going to be able to go back to sleep, but I was done hunting for the stupid smoke detector.

My wife rolls over and in a sleepy voice says "it's probably the carbon monoxide detector on the bookshelf". I promptly got back up, walked upstairs with the one good 9 volt battery we had left and located the carbon monoxide detector on the bookshelf. The bookshelf is located exactly between the two smoke detectors that I checked 3 times and eventually changed. I grabbed it off the shelf, opened the back of it and realized that it's the only detector in the house that requires AA batteries. Of course!!! Why would it take the battery that I just happened to have in my hand!? With detector in hand, I marched downstairs, knowing that all the AA batteries are currently in the back of the 4 different Nintendo Wii controllers that we own; and chucked the carbon monoxide detector onto the counter. From there, I fell back into my bed and closed my eyes only to be awoken 60 seconds later by a little 5 year old boy that needed to use the bathroom outside of our bedroom. He pisses like a gown ass man and slams the toilet seat up before he starts to pee. Must be because he's half T-Rex.

What's the #Tryharder takeaway from today's blog? Ask an expert their opinion? The T-Rex is always right?

Always wake up your wife when there's a problem so you don't spend 45 minutes trying to fix it yourself! Oh yeah, and make sure to pick up some batteries on your way home.

Mommy!!!