I had thought that being a woman and having a home would someday lead to a family. I also believed that the idyllic I imagined would be my experience. Ah, the virtues of youth.
I spent endless hours cleaning my parent’s home, imagining I was cleaning my OWN counter, or washing my OWN laundry. I thought I would be able to realize this LHOTP lifestyle, with equality and happiness.
Some of that I later learned would never happen. Other aspects of daily life as I envisioned could happen, provided I was willing to put in my efforts. Say, be positive, or look at some chores not as work but a benefit to the greater good…perhaps my family’s happiness or cleanliness for everyone. That kind of thing. It turns out that my family got sick less often than others, and I 100% attribute that to my cleaning habits, which had always included using antiviral wipes on handles and knobs. The pandemic only increased the likelihood of credit where it is due, or not. The sicknesses could have easily stayed at bay with good medical care or a quality diet…
I had not quite figured out if I should use a spray and wipe method or continue with the disposables. Does it take more water to wash rags, or fill too many landfills to use throw away? Oh the way the viral climate chatter has infected our thought process.
I did believe that my carbon footprint should avoid becoming a carbon mansion, so I tried to cloth diaper. I had read once that every day people (around the world? in my country?) used enough disposable diapers to fill a 5 story building. That’s so gross. I hope I only showed my toes for that time period, not the entire foot.
When I finally did begin living the ole married life, I innately continued with the behaviors that seemed successful in my home of origin. Though, how happy, content, or effective is a daily cleaning regimen? In fact, it took years, YEARS, maybe decades, to get past the programming. I did replace some of it with other rote behaviors that I am proud of, like meal planning. I’m thankful I didn’t completely ditch the depth of cleaning, either, because I counted it as a badge of honor that my kids have said ours is the cleanest house they know.
Doubtful that it’s a complement; perhaps it’s an insult.
Why is that a bad thing, anyway? Is that an embarrassment? Really?
So, I had to learn to modify expectations just some so I wouldn’t be a workhorse. It’s still a work in progress.
Still, ideally we desire cleanliness, but it’s okay if there are some messes.
I had required and still maintain that making one’s bed daily has benefits. While we make it a priority-which can take as little as 90 seconds- and ensure the younger ones follow suit, I’ve noted that a newly minted adult has made it the opposite habit. No bed making.
Occasionally I become infuriated by the insolence and make it for them. It’s probably not on purpose. They have attention issues. I’m overreacting. I know it makes them feel guilty on occasion as well; occasions not being equal as sometimes they say nothing, while other times stating that they do feel the guilt, maybe even some shame, at not making their bed when they know I expect it.
Younger eyes can’t see intentions or guilt or feelings. It’s either made or not. I need to ensure all ages follow suit. Expectations, after all.
My ideal home has no clutter, no dust, no grime, definitely clean toilets, upkept laundry, nice smelling air, fluffed pillows, lintless floors, clean dishes and sink, and made beds.
Most of those are taken care of, but I’m one person.
I’ve had to rethink some of these things, too. I’m not getting any younger. I’m clearly the ONLY person that actually cares these things get done. The others comply out of obligation and fear of retribution. I don’t retribute, just lament loudly with great vim and vigor.
My husband complies because he wants me happy (or to stop, but that likely won’t happen). I think I don’t smile after completion enough. He thinks I’m unhappy. I’m moderately annoyed most often, and squarely satisfied more than that.
He also believes my “I don’t give a care” monitor is broken. It is. We both know it.
I care too much.
It has nothing to do with what others may think. I truly believe it’s something I had sewn into the fabric of who I am: a patchwork of complexity with some odd colors, an old, historical aire, some keen gifts, and penchant for control. Who doesn’t like to know what to expect? Ami right?
Alas, I’ve had to throw ideal out the window. I cannot expect others to expect in the same way I expect, and since I cannot, I cannot expect to feel accomplished by expecting more than what others can contribute and believe they would expect happiness from that expectation.
The ideal has changed, but it’s not completely gone. I still daydream of somedays and hopefullies, only now there is more realism included.
I want for my children to dream of their own homes with their own families and wonder about their days and their daily happiness and work and life…..but maybe without so much focus and attention on ideals. They rarely function as expected….