Household chores
Most recently when I was married and we had our big pre-fab soulless house that looked like all the other houses on the block, we had a maid that Helen hired. I felt kind of embarrassed about it, that we made messes that Esperanza had to clean up. She didn't speak much English, and I didn't know much Spanish, but I looked up the word for 'sorry' which is a lot like pardon in English. Perdona me, I said because I was sorry Helen had given up cleaning and though I usually did some before Esperanza came over so she wouldn't have to clean up the truly gross things anyhow (No one wants to clean someone else's toilet, do they), I didn't always have time to when I was working a lot of late night gigs.
Helen yelled at me about it, said I was just confusing the help and we were paying her a good salary anyhow so I should just stop apologizing and let her do the job she was paid to do. Water under the burnt bridge now.
Now that Jake and I live at the Spandau Charitable Housing complex in World's End, there's a chore sign-up sheet and everyone is expected to do some pitching in to take care of the communal areas. I really like that. This week I'm on cooking prep detail, which is peeling potatoes and chopping up onions and carrots. It reminds me a bit of KP duty in the army. I don't mind it at all. And I don't want Jake to grow up thinking that he should make messes for other people to clean up. So even though I don't think he'll remember much about being a baby when he gets older, I think it's good for him to see me doing my part.
There's some other little things everyone is expected to do here, and I do them every morning. Make our beds. Clean up our sleeping area. Put things away in our footlocker and make sure it's locked securely just in case before heading out for the day.
Someday we might have our own little apartment or house even if I find the right kind of place for a price I can afford. But I'm going to make sure it's a place I can look after on my own (maybe with a little help from Jake when he gets old enough). How much space do two people need anyhow? That's one argument Helen and I had an awful lot. A house shouldn't be a 'status symbol'. It should be a home.
Helen yelled at me about it, said I was just confusing the help and we were paying her a good salary anyhow so I should just stop apologizing and let her do the job she was paid to do. Water under the burnt bridge now.
Now that Jake and I live at the Spandau Charitable Housing complex in World's End, there's a chore sign-up sheet and everyone is expected to do some pitching in to take care of the communal areas. I really like that. This week I'm on cooking prep detail, which is peeling potatoes and chopping up onions and carrots. It reminds me a bit of KP duty in the army. I don't mind it at all. And I don't want Jake to grow up thinking that he should make messes for other people to clean up. So even though I don't think he'll remember much about being a baby when he gets older, I think it's good for him to see me doing my part.
There's some other little things everyone is expected to do here, and I do them every morning. Make our beds. Clean up our sleeping area. Put things away in our footlocker and make sure it's locked securely just in case before heading out for the day.
Someday we might have our own little apartment or house even if I find the right kind of place for a price I can afford. But I'm going to make sure it's a place I can look after on my own (maybe with a little help from Jake when he gets old enough). How much space do two people need anyhow? That's one argument Helen and I had an awful lot. A house shouldn't be a 'status symbol'. It should be a home.