Blue Plate Special

In this blog, I am trying hard to write truthfully, even when it's scary. That's what I promised when I wrote my first post on February 5.

Here's a topic I would much rather sweep under the rug than address, but I do find that writing helps me work through things.

My husband does far, far less housework than I do, and I am very resentful. Lots of my friends' husbands--Michael, John, Ted--and H.'s brothers, Dave and John, and brother-in-law, Mike, are quick to grab the sponge and dish soap. There's something so romantic about that. But wait: One of my most romantic fantasies about marriage when I was a girl involved me standing at the sink in a pretty apron doing dishes, and my husband comes up behind me and puts his arms around me and kisses me. What in the world is wrong with this picture? Why did my fantasy involve dishes....being done by me? Picture of domestic bliss? And how could I ever be cheerful enough, up to my elbows in greasy water and dinner scraps, to want to be romantic? That's what you call having a good imagination.

Promises, Promises
Before we married, I made H. promise that he would clean the bathroom once a week, a chore I don't like. He promised. And it lasted for maybe a few months in our apartment, after which it became less frequent, and then I would step in because we were having company or something......maybe my mistake was stepping in. Maybe I shouldn't have taken ownership.....maybe it would have been okay if the soap dish was gunky. Later, we had a cleaning lady, so the bathroom job was off the table for both of us.

H. is honest and earnest, I grant him that. He's a very hard worker, and good about keeping and updating our budget on the computer, grocery shopping, making dinner [we both like to cook and eat good meals], shuttling Figgy around [including to the mall], taking Sug to the groomer.

But when it comes to the dishes, it's dismal. And it really weighs me down. We dated for four years and have been married for 19. Is it hopeless to think he will ever change his ways? What happened to the independent man who had an apartment in Brooklyn? Well, the truth is, he also let the dishes pile up there until he absolutely had to do them. And I wasn't around enough to witness that--or old enough to care.

The Dish List
He took me seriously as a young bride. I complained that I was doing the dishes way more than he was--and we didn't have a dishwasher. So he invented a dish list to tape to the fridge. It was really charming and sweet. He drew himself and me, each holding a mile-high stack of dinner plates. The idea was that each time we did the dishes, we'd color in a plate on our stack, so we could gauge the true picture of our domestic dish balancing.

But then, H. pointed out, as my stack began to look much more colorful than his, he really should not have to do as many dishes as me, because he often worked [still does] parties on weekend days and nights, writing 60-Second Novels. Thus, I had more free time. Seemed fair, so I agreed. He'd keep doing them, but I would do more.

Competitors
But as the years marched on and parenthood came, shifting everything, another dynamic emerged for me. It's not just a stack of dirty dishes he's leaving for me. It's my unfulfilled aspiration. It's a statement that he's too busy pursuing his writing dreams [and a feature assignment for The New York Times Magazine is every journalist's dream] to care about mine.

He asks why I haven't written a book. I ask why he hasn't done the dishes. And we go round and round. I can't just leave them there, because then our family won't have clean utensils, surfaces and dishes to eat healthfully, pack lunch, etc. I like to get it all clean and spray it with Lysol 4 in 1 Antibacterial Kitchen Cleaner [Citrus Scent]. Figgy helps too, but......really, it's about the uneven balance between H. and me.

Dish List Lost
When we started going to couples counseling recently, H. made another dish list for our fridge. It's still over at our house; I should probably bring it here to the condo. We had just taped it to the fridge when the tree fell.

I've never been very good at asking for what I want in this relationship. I fumble and fall. I expect he should already know. I don't know how to communicate about hot-button issues without attacking. I try to remember what we learned in Pre-Cana*, the Catholic church's mandatory weekend for engaged couples, about how you should not use the words you, always or never in the sentence when attempting conflict resolution. As in, Why do you always leave the dishes for me? You never do them!

I have so much more to learn. I'm grateful for the time I had to wade through this issue now. Thank you for listening. Please, give me your insights.....

And yes, I still believe things can change. That must be my Catholic faith--or crazy logic--at work.


*In case you're not Catholic, here is Wikipedia's concise description: Pre-Cana is a course or consultation Catholic couples must undergo before they can be married in a Catholic church. The name is derived from John 2:1-12, the wedding feast at Cana in Galilee, where Jesus performed the miracle of turning water into wine.