My first husband and I both worked full-time when we moved into our first house. Since he was a chef, we also ran a small catering business from home and I sold Tupperware on the side. We were busy. Apart from the kitchen – not wanting to poison our clients – housework wasn’t a priority. I tackled the dust when I happened to notice it.
I’m not observant.
I gave up the day-job when I had my first child (staying on wasn’t really an option back in the 1970s. Maternity leave didn’t exist, and a one-off maternity allowance had only just been introduced).
Even once you’re used to having them around, babies and toddlers (plus three Jack Russell Terriers and two fish tanks) tend to draw attention away from the housework.
Eventually the children were all at school or playschool. I found myself able to walk the dogs at a sensible hour (not at 6am) clean the fish tanks without someone playing in (or drinking) my water-change, go shopping unencumbered by children, and still have time to think.
At this point I was still tackling the housework only when I noticed it – old habits die hard. The advantage of my cleaning regime is that when it has been done, I notice the difference. In spite of appearances to the contrary, I like the difference. The trouble is, in such a short while, it needs doing all over again!
We lived in a big old Edwardian house. (For ‘Edwardian’, read ‘dust trap with coving and carvings and lots of corners’.) I reasoned that if I were more systematic the place could be clean all the time. On Mondays I could vacuum upstairs, on Tuesdays downstairs, on Wednesdays wield the duster, Thursday clean both bathrooms, and Friday blitz the kitchen.
That was when I realised it was time for me to get a job.
So there I was again, walking the dogs at silly-o-clock. . . But once I was earning enough, I planned to get a cleaner in weekly, to dust and vacuum.
Does anyone ever earn ‘enough’? But I did actually sign up with a cleaning agency for a while. I don’t recall how long we kept this up. On Wednesday mornings I would be rushing around clearing toys from the floors and stairs, yelling at the kids to pick up their clothes. . . (The children’s bedrooms weren’t part of the deal. I wasn’t earning that much.) In the end the preparation for cleaning day was more stressful than (not) doing it myself.
My next brainwave was to allocate ‘pocket money’ jobs that rotated each week for the children to ‘earn’ their pocket money. These included vacuuming, dusting, clearing dog muck from the back garden (with a long-arm super-scooper), watering the plants… you get the idea. Some jobs were more popular than others. Each might get done properly every fourth week when the most conscientious of the children came around to it on the rota.
Memories fade over the years. When I planned my retirement (by now in much smaller premises) I harboured similar delusions about a housework routine, but somehow they have come to naught.
The dust thickens and I attack it only when I can’t avoid noticing it. (Hubby number two tells me to take my specs off – bless him.) Cleaning is always an interruption to other things I want to be doing. In fact the only time I take myself off with a view to tackling some housework task is when I’m avoiding something else (such as editing my ‘pratice’ novel).
Writing Wrinkles, and Random Ramblings 
When my children were young one of my friends visited another mother and reported back that she had a list pinned up on her kitchen wall of her weekly housework schedule! At weekends and school holidays I used to put up a list of jobs each day and whoever was up first got to pick the easiest.
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That sounds like a plan! I know exactly which one of mine would have ended up clearing the garden each day… (actually, that probably was the easiest job – except it would need clearing several times.)
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I can’t remember the American comedienne’s name who said, “You clean the house and six months later you have to do it all over again.”
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I thought that was Quentin Crisp. I know his was the quote about the dust not getting any thicker after three months. (It’s true, but it kind of solidifies.)
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I don’t mind doing housework; it’s usually my only chance to listen to music!
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Now there’s a thought! A little rhythm to my dashing around (not) and I can call it exercise as well…
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who knew there were so many benefits to housework!
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I must say that after the cataract surgery the house was a lot dirtier! I recently hired a vaccinated local women who LOVES TO CLEAN. I find that almost impossible to believe. My husband likes to weed. Another total oddity to me. But I pay her and she cleans. A great exchange. And he happily makes our garden a showcase. I catch up on my reading.
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Good thing we don’t all hate the same tasks. My husband once told me he loves painting (as in walls and fences). I thought ‘Yay!’ ‘cos painting bores me silly.
Sadly, he now gets dizzy on ladders and breathless after standing too long.
I just finished painting the shed 😦
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We are waiting for our grandson to take up the chore.
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I like it to look clean and tidy, but don’t want to do it. Living on my own, I don’t need to do it often. But when my daughter was complaining about dogs, children, husband and no one seeing the mess, the washing etc, I said ‘ Empty nesters miss it.’
I did have someone do the cleaning at one point, and a dog walker and childminder…and decided I’d prefer to work part time and be at home more and not work to pay others.
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Cathy, you and I are almost identical twins – housework-wise anyway. I had a grin all the way through this post. It’s going up as a link on my Story Chat post tomorrow. 🙂 You are so funny! 🙂
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Thanks for that Marsha. Glad you enjoyed it.
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My Mum would clean the house before the cleaner arrived so it didn’t look untidy and it gave her more time to sit and have tea with the cleaner.
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That’s the idea – clean up the toys and stuff so it didn’t look the mess it usually was. I was back at work by then though so couldn’t sit and have tea with the cleaner – although I used to have a cup of tea with the window cleaner in the days before I went back to work.
I lived East of London then at South Woodford. Our window cleaner was a cheerful chap in the throes of studying The Knowledge because he wanted to become a taxi driver.
I’m sure he must have made it, because we had a different window cleaner years later when we moved out.
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