When Eric and I got married and moved in together, we had long conversations about how to share the household duties. Who would clean what, who would handle the finances, who would cook when. We settled into a nice little rhythm based on a few simple principles: do as much together as possible and divide everything else according to what we are good at or didn’t mind doing.

The pattern we constructed has worked well for over a year with very few hitches. But last week we determined that one particular area— me doing all the laundry and Eric doing all the dishes — was no longer working well. I won’t bore you with the details of why, so suffice it to say we decided to switch.

Sounds trivial, right? Sounds like it couldn’t possibly be a big deal, right? Here’s how week one of this domestic experiment went down.

Our lack of a dishwasher and the weirdest shaped sink of all time make washing the dishes particularly annoying. I wanted to prove that I could do them every day, so I found myself cursing the dishes and the deep-but-narrow sink and the tiny counter at midnight just about every night. We love to cook together, but I made it less enjoyable by suggesting we cut out side items or anything that required multiple pots. And I’m a little embarrassed about how many times I drank out of the same glass.

Whilst a bachelor, my dear husband defined “sorting” laundry by darks, not-so-darks and whites (or one big load of all of the above). Towels and sheets were washed maybe once a month. Maybe. My laundry is much more complicated. I conducted a mini workshop with him on sorting, what washer settings to use for which load, what to hang up and what to dry all the way, etc. When it came time to fold and put away, he (rightly) looked at me like I was crazy.

Eric: So you fold your T-shirts like this?
Me: Um, not exactly, let me show you.
Eric: OK so this tank top goes…
Me: Middle drawer, left side.
Eric: So all the tank tops go in the middle drawer, left side?
Me: Nope… there are tank tops I sleep in, tank tops I wear with jeans, grungy tanks. They each go in a different drawer.
Eric: So these pants go with pajamas?
Me: Nope, with the lounge wear.
Eric: Here?
Me: No, that drawer is knit lounge wear; these pants are sweats.
Eric: How are those possibly different?

Household chores are one of the most banal, mundane parts of life. And that’s precisely why they are so important. They say much about what we value individually and collectively, and about how we choose to support each other in the most menial of tasks. I frequently fight two different temptations: to split it up 50/50 so it’s perfectly equal (which is impossible and creates competition) or to do it all myself (which doesn’t make any sense). We believe marriage is about oneness, and sharing these household tasks is a reflection of that, in the most ordinary way.

One Response to “Domestic disruption”

1. Lisa S. Says:
   January 5th, 2010 at 4:20 pm

   “My laundry is much more complicated.”

   You got that from your momma

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