One evening last week when I was not home, my husband called me to see what my ETA was. “Oh, around 10pm,” I said. Then I noticed he was breathing a little heavily. “What are you up to?” I warily asked.  “Oh,” he replies, “I thought it would be nice if I organized and straightened your sewing room so your brother and Beth (sister-in-law) would have their own room to stay in while they’re here next month. We had our own room when we went to visit them–I want to extend them the same courtesy.”

What?!  For the record, they will be here for not quite three whole days, and they have a five bedroom, 100 year old brick home, on five acres.

“Okay…. that’s nice, but don’t you want to wait until I get home?”

“Well, I thought I’d get a jump on it.” (They’ll be here in three weeks, the sewing room is 10 x 12)

I’m desperately trying to remember even having a conversation about this–and failing. Needless to say… I went home a little earlier than I had planned. Good thing, too, because he was not “organizing”, nor cleaning. He had gathered some shipping boxes and was THROWING stuff into them willy-nilly, taping them up, and hauling them off to the GARAGE. Quilts in pieces, quilts that need binding, UFO’s. No need to label the boxes, apparently intelligent people just open them up, and look inside when they want to find something!  Oh man, my slice quilt is out there–somewhere.

I think that was when I started to foam at the mouth. I may have even considered widowhood. I do know that’s when the world got very fuzzy, and I grabbed the dogs and went for a stomp around the neighborhood. Yes, at 10 o’clock at night, in the dark. Not to worry, I could have probably tackled a grizzly bear–and won–at that moment.

I know his heart is in the right place, and I want to believe he approached this wonderful idea from an innocent mind-set. After all, he does not have any hobbies. It’s not as if I could go straighten his tools in the garage, or box up his model airplane mid-construction to help him understand.

So… I’m giving myself time to calm down, and asking for advice. How would you handle it? What are your tips on training your husband in regards to your sewing room? Can it be done? Are there horror storries out there, like mine?