Housekeeping in the Modern Age

That sounds like it ought to be the title of a magazine article sometime between 1880 and 1960. Part patronizing puff piece, part practical advice, part ludicrous ideas packaged as something that someone, somewhere, once tried.

I struggle with housework, and issues around housework, all the time.

The care of houses got a tarnished reputation in the 70s. It’s continued to get a bad rap ever since.

Thankless hard work and drudgery? Not for me.

Those who can afford to do so hire someone to do it for them.

I never aspired to be a housewife.

I wanted to be an astronaut, and later I wanted to be an engineer.

All through school and into my engineering career, I received gentle, and not-so-gentle, pushes to do the work of a housewife. Teachers, colleagues, friends, parents, and romantic partners assigned the work to me and judged me by how well it was done.

The previous occupants of this house left it filthy for us. We had to muck it out before we could move in. We registered this fact. I got the cleaning supplies, and my husband disappeared outside.

Without a word, the housework was mine. My husband doesn’t consider himself sexist. He washes dishes and folds laundry with the best of them. He’ll sweep and vacuum. He even pitches in to clean a bathroom once a year or so.

He scrubs nothing without prompting. He doesn’t do counters or sinks. He doesn’t dust. Deep-cleaning doesn’t enter his consciousness. He’d no more clear out the fridge or a cupboard and scrub out the gunk than he’d grow a second head.

Most cleaning chores don’t penetrate his consciousness. He considers many aspects of housework unimportant (why should baseboards ever be scrubbed?) and so doesn’t do them.

All through my adult life, I have to decide whether to do the work myself, ask someone else to do it, or ignore it. If I ignore it, it likely won’t get done at all, ever. Not even if I ignore it with all my strength for several decades.

Somehow or other, the responsibility for housework mostly ends up on my plate.

I’ve stepped up to about 70% of it.  I’ve spent a lot of time wanting other people to step up to more of it, but it’s been okay.

Our homes are a major influence on our lives. They can serve and comfort us. They can glower at and rebuke us. They can speed us along or slow us down. They can reflect the best aspects of ourselves or the worst. They can help us move towards our objectives or obstruct us.

At times, I’ve been in deep conversation with my house, trying to sculpt it into a home that supports the needs of its inhabitants.  As a homeschooling mother, I tried to create an environment where kids could explore and create and learn everything they needed to learn to become happy, healthy, and productive adults.

We’re in a transition now, starting to resculpt for the next phase of our life while we still have two children who live at home.  So there’s a need for more conversations.