Tuesday, September 15, 2009

I am not your maid

We're all blessed with special talents. I'd like to think mine includes a way with words, the gift of compassion, and a creative spirit. If I'm sometimes a little bit of a klutz or a little bit of an organization freak, my friends mostly look past it.

But I have no special talent for toilet cleaning. My dishes are not shinier than yours, and my floors aren't polished. So I have a hard time justifying spending so much time on the chores I don't adore.

Now, on the other hand, as I mentioned before, I am an organization freak. My out of control craft cubby sends low level vibrations of anxiety through me every day. I hate my too full linen closet. And I find it difficult to write if I'm surrounded by mess.

It's a Catch-22. It's with a little bit of resentment I recognize that even if I were working full time outside of the house, the bulk of the housework would fall on me. A good part of it is that I care more. My lovable husband isn't sexist--he just has different standards. (He calls me driven and a perfectionist. And I will admit I can be a little pushy. And maybe a teensey bit anal.)

But with two miniature mess makers in training (read: children), I'm feeling a little ganged up on. I want the kids to recognize their own messes and take responsibility for cleaning them up.

As my mom used to say, "I'm not your maid, and I'm not a short order cook."

God bless you, mom. I finally get it.

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