I am never going to clean my house once and for all. I'm also never going to eat or sleep once and for all, but those are at least pleasurable activities. Imagine if, after every meal you ate, you had to eat another meal followed by a snack followed by a meal. It's kind of like working at the post office: you can sort mail all day, set little goals for yourself, but once you clear a box of letters, someone's going to drop another through that stupid little slot. Sorting random pieces of paper... every day... forever...
That kind of dread is how I feel about dishes and laundry.
I cannot be the only person who arrived at adulthood and went "Wait, you mean I have to do this every DAY?" It wasn't bad when I was single and childless - I worked so much, I did laundry maybe every other week and I rarely even ate at home, which reduced the dishes. I basically bought clothes if I couldn't find the clean ones. One more adult wasn't bad, nor was one baby. We had so many clothes for Sebastian that we probably could have done laundry once a month. His clothes were so small, putting them away consisted of dumping them in a single drawer - shirts on one side, pants on the other. Somewhere in the last few years, the laundry situation exploded.
When I was working, I would go on laundry binges, which has kind of been a lifelong habit. On Saturday, I'll start about six loads of laundry in the morning and then fold them all day. It's kind of a waste of half of my weekend. It also creates a huge mountain of laundry, so I got in the "better" habit of doing one load a day.
This system works because it's also how we manage the dishes. I forgot that my dish system makes me miserable: once I empty the sink, start the dishwasher, and feel accomplished, some jerk gulps down the last of his milk and puts the glass back in my clean sink. Now, I get that feeling in the kitchen AND by the laundry where, right after I start a load of kids' clothes, Audrey walks by with juice down the front of her shirt. When this happens, I walk away and create a pro/con list about drinking all afternoon. Oh my gosh it's happening AGAIN...
In general, cleaning makes you feel productive: you improve the house, put things where they belong, and step on fewer Legos, which always helps the day go better. There's a book called Throw Out 50 Things and a motivational blog by the same name. I haven't read either, honestly, but I like to go through my house with a grocery bag and see if I can find 50 things. It's kind of like an adult Easter egg hunt. But now, while I'm hunting and feeling all productive, I'll find a coffee mug or a juice cup or a pair of the kids' pants on the floor of the bathroom. WHEN WILL IT STOP???
Now imagine if I worked at the post office with this mentality: If I had to do dishes in the morning (here comes another milk glass), then sort all the mail all day (here comes another bunch of letters), and then end my day with laundry (juice on the shirt), I would flip my crap. If I had to do that for 30 years, I would probably mark every day on the wall, pull my own teeth, and make friends with a volleyball. Of course, I know that Tom Hanks' character worked for FedEx in that movie, and not sorting packages, but I now think Castaway was really the story of a FedEx guy getting to a situation where he went postal.
Supposedly, the kids will start helping as they get older, and this "happens so fast." Then, my dish and laundry dread will turn into a daily reminder to them with a few battles about whether a person should be allowed to play outside before the laundry is done. I recall being on the other side of this conversation - my mom always seemed a lot more serious about the dishes and laundry than I was. What's one load of laundry? You do it like once a week, it's not a big deal!
As a mom, I realize that part of ushering my kids to adulthood is hiding certain little inevitabilities, like dishes and laundry. I've got to work on my stern looks and keep to certain talking points if I'm going to keep that help. Like right now, I'm watching Audrey change her shirt again - picking a new one from a pile of freshly-laundered, but not-yet-folded clothes. On the one hand, I want to crawl across the floor, grab the front of her shirt, and cry into her shoulder while I scream "Please, I beg of you, MAKE IT STOP!"
Instead, I'm going to smile, admire her new shirt, remind her to put the old one in the hamper, and then send her on a treasure hunt for her lunch dishes.
Then I might have a glass of wine while I fold all... that... laundry...
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