I hate housework. I hate it all.
It's a necessary evil, I know. Someone has to do it. And in our division of labor (ie, Gary goes to work everyday, I don't), that someone would be me. I'd hire it out, but since I am home all day with virtually nothing to do, I can't really justify it. It would be nice if the girls would help — which they do, sporadically — but frankly, getting them to help involves more time and effort than if I just do it myself.
I hate vacuuming. Don't care for dusting. Despise cleaning the bathrooms. And the list goes on. Maybe because I know as soon as I'm done I'll have to turn around and do it all over again. There is no sense of completion.
I kind of don't mind laundry — I suppose that's because it involves caring for my clothes, which is important to me. Gotta care for the wardrobe. There is a certain amount of satisfaction in having my clothes neatly put away. It's the never-ending chore — there is always something in the bottom of the hamper — but it's the one job I can tolerate. Maybe because the machine does most of the work.
I derive a sense of calm on those occasions when the house is in order. When our last house was for sale, it looked practically perfect all the time. But it took a lot of energy — every day before I left the house for work, after the girls were gone, I had to spend more than half an hour putting every last thing away. The house looked great, but I had zero energy for anything else.
Today I had to grocery shop — my number one most hated task. I don't like cooking — unless we're having company, but then it's entertaining, which I love — consequently, don't care much for the shopping. But as we are a family of five, and I don't want to eat out every meal, grocery shopping is a necessary evil.
But there is one bright spot: since I shopped today, I don't have to do it again for a week. At least.
(Unless you count the run to pick up the forgotten trash bags and mini-applesauce ...)
Sigh. A housewife's work is never done.
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