chore chart

last monday, T came up with the idea that we should have a chore chart. (okay, so we've both come up with that idea, in various incarnations, thousands of times.) we decided to start small, and anyone who knows T will know that this was a major compromise on his part. our bigger, loftier chore charts have invariably failed, leaving both of us feeling annoyed, inadequate, gross or a combo of all 3.

i should add that i am the messy one.

anyway, we are now on week 2 of the chore chart. and it's going well enough that i feel inspired to write about it.

i spend a lot (pero MUCHO!) of time psychologizing my inability to keep a clean house. T has not unfairly observed that this psychologizing is a fantastically effective way to put off actual efforts to clean (and throw conversations about the problem wayyyyy off-track). among my various theories for my messiness, which i will boldly posit despite their shameless tone of unaccountability:

first, my mom never made me clean. she just did it all herself. sure, she would ask me put my dishes in the dishwasher. she would later downgrade that request to simply getting the dishes in the sink. usually if i ever did anything around the house, it was because mom nagged me into doing it or because she had decided on one occasion or another to actually enforce her demand. ("what did i tell you? you may not go upstairs and play until you have put away your dishes," called up to me from the kitchen as i reluctantly left my brother's bedroom where we had scattered all his micro-machines after dinner.)

then there was my dad's popular "this house is falling apart" refrain. or: "we don't know how to take care of our things." these two laments were so constantly echoing around the house, loudly proclaimed whenever something did not live up to his own standards of what he had expected grown-up life with a big house and two kids to be. i heard it so regularly that i must have believed it. i mean, what's the point in trying to keep it together if only the failures get recognized, right? negative reinforcement at its finest.

and perhaps he had a point. after all, i lived in a house where a giant pot-shaped circle was seared into the linoleum of our kitchen floor for years, due to a cooking mishap involving a saucepan, my mom and fire. never fixed. i watched water stains grow and take shape on the ceiling of my parents' bedroom. but mostly i don't remember there being a lot of clutter or mess, even though my mom talked about it all the time. i suspect that this lack of memory isn't due to my actually living in a clean house, but due to the fact that when you're a kid what you know is your normal.

so excuse me, mr. clean husband. i grew up thinking that it was perfectly normal to have 3 coffee mugs cluttered around your bedside table, that it makes perfect sense to hang your purse on the back of the bathroom door and just because the sink is full tonight doesn't mean it won't be clean in the morning.

i jest.

obviously i am a grown-up who needs to be a cleaner person. and the only reason i am indulging in this little shoe-gazing, tongue-in-cheek reflection on my days of yore is that today i happily cleaned the kitchen. belting out tim mcgraw. talking incessantly to the dog. scrubbing pots and pans and spraying down the counters and setting up our new programmable coffee maker for tomorrow morning's brew. i cleaned the kitchen. and you know what? it felt damn good. and yes, i may have snapped at T for offering to help me put a plate up on a high cabinet, and may have compared his generous offer to that of a mother following her toddler around the housewares aisle of Macy's. (sorry again, handsome.) but you know why? it's cause i'm groooowing. i'm sensing my independence and i can do it myself thankyouverymuch. this is a good thing. if this routine keeps up, i may even graduate to other parts of the house!