My husband is cleaning the bathrooms right now. I am preparing to go upstairs and open all of the windows so I can get away from the bleach he has sprayed on the surface of everything. My nostril hairs are burning.
It was one of the things I loved about him when we first lived together; his Naval training had taught him how to clean a mean bathroom.
Of course, while I was a SAHM that was (mostly) my duty and the whole house was a lot cleaner back in those days. I remember picking up every toy after the kids went to bed. I can’t even fathom that I had that much time on my hands.
Now I work a lot and my husband works a lot, and our kids are involved in all kinds of activities, and we are involved in all kinds of activities. My house is rarely, if ever, clean.
So, in addition to the massive amount of yardwork he does throughout the year, my husband chips in with the housework (and laundry) sometimes too. As awesome as it is to have a well-scrubbed kitchen floor, it is hard for me to let the housework go. I feel like it’s still my job.
But, it isn’t. It’s our job now. And, I will try not to feel guilty, or criticize, because he is doing it.
Just don’t tell him I took all the towels off the bathroom shelf and refolded them.