Shame Pizza is Our Daily Bread

I have made a decision today that I am far too busy to clean the kitchen. My kitchen is a mess. The Leaning Tower of Plates has been created on my counter. The Church of Crusty Pots is on my stove top. It’s a bad scene. It’s like culinary homicide has been committed in my kitchen. “Someone take the children! Avert your eyes gentle souls! Hell is here!”

Maybe that’s a bit dramatic but it’s pretty bad.

I’m not cleaning it though. My husband is supposed to take care of it, make sure that it doesn’t become a cesspool of neglect and shame filled pizza boxes that build up because the kitchen is too gross to cook in and everyone is hungry. He is not good at avoiding the cesspool.

When I do clean, it pushes back carefully plotted deadlines. I do not have much of any free time and I generally use that to sleep so the hour and a half to two hours it takes to clean the kitchens or the bathrooms is sort of a big deal. That’s like four quick articles right there.
Needless to say the transition from me cleaning to him cleaning has not gone well. Which is why shame pizza has become a major staple in our diet. I feel really guilty about that.

I have tried various ways to help him get used to taking care of the house on more than just a casual basis (put your socks in the hamper. Run the dryer now and then) but it hasn’t done much. He’s just not very good at the whole house keeping thing. Or paying bills. Or just anything that has to do with the house in general. He’s bad at all of it.

I’m good it however, I can’t pawn off illustration jobs and articles on him for a few hours a week so I can clean the kitchen. He can’t swap with me at my day job and handle my staff so that I can knock out the bathroom and a couple loads of laundry. I only have so much time in my day and I’m already pulled pretty thin.

So at this point, I have no idea what to do. The dishes are beyond piled up. My children are running around like wild things. I am filled with shame and guilt but I have to get the work done. So that still leaves a ton of work on the house.

Sigh. I imagine that many people working freelance and full time with families encounter this problem with the person who generally did the house work just can’t anymore.

I have no advice for this. I wish I did but there doesn’t seem to be any right answer since you know, everyone else is content to live this way. My mom’s favorite story was the Little Red Hen and I never really understood that until I became a mother and a partner.

I guess I’ll just get to bread making then.

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