Better And Better

If you don't draw yours, I won't draw mine. A police officer, working in the small town that he lives in, focusing on family and shooting and coffee, and occasionally putting some people in jail.

Friday, February 16, 2007

Getting organized.

Y'all who are neat and organized, go someplace else.

Are they gone?

Shut the door. Lock it. Tamara, you stand jigger. Byron, you come sit up front.

Look, I'm a slob. I don't know exactly why, but I am. Seriously. I love living in a neat house, but I don't seem to do the required stuff to make that happen. My wife kind of began to give up on me-- what's the point in doing all the work in a partnership? Oh, she wasn't giving up on the relationship-- just doing all the damned housework. But I gotta tell you-- that affects your environment, which affects your attitude, which will affect your relationship, I guarentee you. Oh, she'd give me hints-- if I swept and mopped and did the dishes, I'd find my wife notably more affectionate. (I used to think she had a thing for Mr. Clean.)

But she read some damned book or another, and decided to Fix Things Up Around Here. Gawd.

She made these stupid little chore wheels. She's crafty like that. You put a bunch of jobs on 'em for each member of the family (even the 4 year old), and every day, all that's expected around the house is those three chores. The deal is, it's your job. This is not voluntary; you HAVE to do it. The theory, see, is that everybody does a little portion, but at least everyone does a share, and redundant work isn't done, and people don't give up because the other person didn't do their part. While it's only a tiny bit (10 minutes?) a day, it gets everything done once a week.

Here's the thing... works.

The house won't pass a white glove test or anything, but, since we've started this silly, ridiculous, juvenile thing, our house has been presentable. As in, when a friend shows up at the door unannounced, my wife doesn't go pale with terror before going red with shame. Counters are clean. Sinks are clean. Floors are reasonably clean. Laundry is only two loads behind, instead of six. You mean to tell me that it was this easy all along? Good Lord. I can't even work up any serious resentment against being assigned chores by my wife, who's supposed to be my partner and equal.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a load of laundry to do real fast.

Uh, you can open the door, now. Just tell 'em that we were, um... settling on how many pillows should go on the coverlet when company's expected, or something. No, wait-- not manly enough. How 'bout how we were discussing the proper method for organizing a home library for easiest access? Tell 'em that we agreed to disagree.

Labels: , ,


At Saturday, February 17, 2007 1:20:00 AM, Blogger Strings said...

Matt... I feel your pain, but from the other side. I can NOT get Spoon to simply put her clothes away (nothing more than that really necessary)...

On the other hand, one of my roomates is a clean-freak: so long as it isn't HER stuff that we're talking about...

At Saturday, February 17, 2007 8:53:00 AM, Blogger Flo said...

Oh yes, I SO know how your wife feels! I want the details on the magazine article!

If you hear from an irate Hubby and 15 y/o that are displeased with you, they would be mine.

At Saturday, February 17, 2007 9:42:00 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Almost anything works if you do it.

Nothing works if you don't.


the voice of (tired) experience

At Monday, February 26, 2007 4:06:00 PM, Blogger Scott Minke said...

Whoa!-- You've been married this long with the impression that you and your wife were "equal"?

You've obviously still got a LOT to learn, young man.

Now-- get crackin' before you get a timeout.



Post a Comment

<< Home

Add to Technorati Favorites