Division of labor

I need to stop reading the New York Times:

The most recent figures from the University of Wisconsin’s National Survey of Families and Households show that the average wife does 31 hours of housework a week while the average husband does 14 — a ratio of slightly more than two to one. If you break out couples in which wives stay home and husbands are the sole earners, the number of hours goes up for women, to 38 hours of housework a week, and down a bit for men, to 12, a ratio of more than three to one. That makes sense, because the couple have defined home as one partner’s work.
But then break out the couples in which both husband and wife have full-time paying jobs. There, the wife does 28 hours of housework and the husband, 16. Just shy of two to one, which makes no sense at all.

I have a job that is about streamlining workflow. I take complex tasks and boil them down to preconditions and desired endstates and then streamline the task progression so that everybody's happy. Worker feels efficient, management gets accuracy, stuff gets done.

The more I think about this, the more I think how laughable this is.

At home, I have no workflow. Things get done in tantrums. Some days, I come home energized and attack some home task until it is dead, dead, dead. Other days, I sit on the couch - turn the TV on for the kids and veg out while E makes dinner.

This past week has been an pretty solid illustration of how the wheels are off the wagon. Stuff is not getting done - I'm annoyed by it, by the fact that I'm making it happen - and I still can't muster the energy to get up and do something as basic as laundry.

This makes no sense. I do not have a particularly exhausting schedule - but most days I get home and there's nothing I want to do more than just sit down.

Take dinner: I'm sure everyone has had the discussion about "we need to cook large meals on weekends and have leftovers for the week." This is a good goal - and sometimes we've even managed it. But more typically, the evening meal is a mad scramble by whoever happens to have an idea for supper.

There is no plan, there is no routine - and lately E has taken it upon herself to go home from work early to get cracking on dinner. This is a great idea, but means that now it's all on her for dinner most weeknights.

Our history has been one of us steps up and plays hero until they can't take it anymore. Then by unspoken agreement, its time to switch roles. No way this works out equitably and there will invariably be those weeks when neither of us feels like stepping up.

The NYT article describes people who have pink and blue post-its and all kinds of easy to seize on things - but I'm not sure there's any solution there. A schedule of some kind would seem to make the most sense - it's just so hard to catch up when you're as behind as I feel. The laundry situation is getting pretty sad - and I still have wiring to do - and the lawn - and the basement, and -

E's going out of town with the kids in about a week - and I plan on going ape on the house while they're away - but I've done that kind of thing before. Housework doesn't stop. The hardest things in life are the things we have to do every day.

Cheryl Mendelson wrote a book called Home Comforts that has been plaguing me. A list of things that ring true and accuse at the same time.

She has this bit on Broken Windows where she describes urban planners and police worrying about whether or not windows are broken in a neighborhood. They try to keep the windows fixed up - because as soon as people see a broken window that stays broken - they assume that the neighborhood is derelict. Broken window = anything goes. And then comes the graffiti, the dumped garbage, and everything else.

At our house, we have a host of broken windows - my son's room is a junk collection that is never put away. I half suspect he watches TV because he can't find toys to play with. The area between the coffee table and the couch is always covered in whatever junk was just set down for a moment until it stayed there.

And I know I do this. I just set something down because I'm working on something else - I'll get back to it, I'm sure. This morning I almost left a gallon of milk out on the counter all day because I'd set it aside to help baby E with a paper towel.

I'd decided that I would defend the living room against clutter - and told no one. So, when the inevitable clutter accumulated - I'd be all hacked off because you suddenly couldn't see the floor anymore. I keep telling people this at work, yet miss it myself: If you are the only one who knows about a system, it is not a system - it is a mental note.

Mendelson describes a regimen I aspire to, but looks to be so complete that I wonder if there is any room for enjoying the wonders you have wrought. Surely her extreme is more than we can expect, but its becoming abundantly clear that a schedule must be set.

Between saving the day and feeling put upon - to soaking up "me time" and feeling like a total heel - all signs point to an oppressive existence.

It has to get better. E's been the hero way too much lately - and the thought of airing out the things that have been bugging us both is a necessary evil. But, really - making a list of all that needs to get done and then - what? punch cards? More details for people who aren't exactly micromanagement material.

Uncle.