A word about housekeeping
I'll be the first to admit I'm a bourgeois, upper middle class working mother whose own working mother had housekeepers as I was growing up to perform the mundane tasks of cleaning our family's bathroom and doing the laundry.
While dating a socially aware guy during my college years, he nearly had an apoplectic fit when he noticed a pamphlet lying around my suburban home called "Speaking Spanish to Domestics."
I'd seen the pamphlet around before, and it never registered with me that this might be offensive (it was the unpolitically correct 1980s, after all). I'm surprised he didn't break up with me on the spot.
Throughout college and my young adult years, I worked in secretarial jobs and then in journalism, which meant I could little afford an apartment, much less someone to clean it. So I spent quite a few years lugging my laundry down five flights in my 5th floor walkup Brooklyn apartment, heading to the local laundromat for a few hours, wrestling the clean and folded clothes back into the laundry bag and then back up the five flights to my apartment. I paid my dues.
So when I finally moved into a career where I could afford a housecleaner, I jumped at the opportunity. And as two full-time working parents with twin kindergarteners, I've often commented to my husband that I'd rather not eat than not have V come to clean my house each Thursday, and wash and fold my laundry. And you know I like to eat.
When I come home from work early each Thursday, I cannot even describe how wonderful it is to smell Murphy's Oil soap on the freshly cleaned wood floors, see my daughters' beds neatly made with fresh linens and know that, at least until my rambunctious 5-year-olds get home from school, I have waded into an oasis of calm.
Some women may derive joy from cleaning, but for me - it just breeds resentment. It's time away from my children, my husband or something else that has got to be infinitely more exciting than choosing which rinse cycle to use with the delicates or scrubbing soap scum off the bathroom tiles.
So when my husband told me today that V felt she was getting overwhelmed by doing all the laundry and cleaning our house today, my heart sunk and I was instantly on the defensive. We increased her pay when we finished the basement and my Dad moved in, to accommodate the extra cleaning. And I really don't want to pay what I'm paying and have to do a lot of my own laundry on top of that.
She's hardworking and reliable, so my first instinct (fire her and find someone else who will do it all) isn't the solution, at least not for today. But I gotta tell you, the knowledge that I'll be forced to do some of my own laundry going forward (I may do a load or two occasionally - but it's not the same as knowing I have to) is not a pleasant prospect.
I already told F that he's on laundry duty, too - he's better at it anyway, and really gets a charge out of adding Oxyclean and various assorted bleaches and softeners to the mix.
And when it comes down to it, I guess this bourgeois suburban mom can get used to the weekly laundry routine again, but man, I'm not looking forward to it.
While dating a socially aware guy during my college years, he nearly had an apoplectic fit when he noticed a pamphlet lying around my suburban home called "Speaking Spanish to Domestics."
I'd seen the pamphlet around before, and it never registered with me that this might be offensive (it was the unpolitically correct 1980s, after all). I'm surprised he didn't break up with me on the spot.
Throughout college and my young adult years, I worked in secretarial jobs and then in journalism, which meant I could little afford an apartment, much less someone to clean it. So I spent quite a few years lugging my laundry down five flights in my 5th floor walkup Brooklyn apartment, heading to the local laundromat for a few hours, wrestling the clean and folded clothes back into the laundry bag and then back up the five flights to my apartment. I paid my dues.
So when I finally moved into a career where I could afford a housecleaner, I jumped at the opportunity. And as two full-time working parents with twin kindergarteners, I've often commented to my husband that I'd rather not eat than not have V come to clean my house each Thursday, and wash and fold my laundry. And you know I like to eat.
When I come home from work early each Thursday, I cannot even describe how wonderful it is to smell Murphy's Oil soap on the freshly cleaned wood floors, see my daughters' beds neatly made with fresh linens and know that, at least until my rambunctious 5-year-olds get home from school, I have waded into an oasis of calm.
Some women may derive joy from cleaning, but for me - it just breeds resentment. It's time away from my children, my husband or something else that has got to be infinitely more exciting than choosing which rinse cycle to use with the delicates or scrubbing soap scum off the bathroom tiles.
So when my husband told me today that V felt she was getting overwhelmed by doing all the laundry and cleaning our house today, my heart sunk and I was instantly on the defensive. We increased her pay when we finished the basement and my Dad moved in, to accommodate the extra cleaning. And I really don't want to pay what I'm paying and have to do a lot of my own laundry on top of that.
She's hardworking and reliable, so my first instinct (fire her and find someone else who will do it all) isn't the solution, at least not for today. But I gotta tell you, the knowledge that I'll be forced to do some of my own laundry going forward (I may do a load or two occasionally - but it's not the same as knowing I have to) is not a pleasant prospect.
I already told F that he's on laundry duty, too - he's better at it anyway, and really gets a charge out of adding Oxyclean and various assorted bleaches and softeners to the mix.
And when it comes down to it, I guess this bourgeois suburban mom can get used to the weekly laundry routine again, but man, I'm not looking forward to it.
posted by workinmom at 10:29 PM
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