Yes, Husband did a super job keeping it all together while I recovered from my facelift. He cooked, he shopped, he washed dishes, did laundry, and vacuumed. And he was very good-natured about it – especially considering this incapacity was all my idea.
So it should be no surprise that, in the process, he learned what it takes to keep a household running. And he was not only appreciative, he was a bit appalled. So he decided that henceforward he would help out by doing the Wednesday laundry.
But I didn’t want the help.
From Day One I was trained for housekeeping. That’s the story of women of my generation. Whatever else we became in life, we must also – and without fail – be consummate housekeepers. Yes, my mother held advanced degrees, as did her mother before her. But that was no excuse NOT to have a pristine house.
And I’m good at it. I’m fast, efficient, thorough, and I know stuff: fabrics, products, techniques. I have a schedule; a system. Giving up the Wednesday laundry destroyed my rhythm. What would a man know about sorting clothes? His mother wouldn’t have taught him. It wasn’t man’s work. Besides, she had a daughter. Husband can’t even wring out a wash cloth and hang it up straight!
So I protested. I whined. I vociferously pointed out that I was best at this, I enjoyed it, and he’d done more than enough already by providing a house in the first place. All those long hours of stressful work and miles upon miles of commuting. Let me do my thing! Good grief, what else am I good for? My Social Security barely pays my share of the groceries!
But no, he wanted to do this. He wants to help. Sigh.
So I let it go. I didn’t even watch him sort or peer over his shoulder at the washer settings. I went to Walmart. I came home with ingredients for several baking projects and had the time to use them. I even picked up his favorite mixed nuts for being such a good and considerate husband. All in all, it was a really satisfying day.
So thanks, Dear. I appreciate the help.