Cleaning vs. Coddling

Posted byrandy@letters-to-rachel.memorialPosted inThe Best of Intentions, Updates From the Abandoned PlanetTags:, , , , , ,

Dearest Rachel –

This is the sort of thing I actually feel silly writing to you about. It’s something that never used to get under my skin, if for no other reason than that it wasn’t mine to necessarily concern myself with. And besides, if I did make a complaint about it, it would just lead to strife in the house that none of us wanted to deal with. At the same time, I imagine some fellow mom friends of yours reading this over your shoulder and rolling their eyes at my sudden expression of irritation; “oh, so now this annoys him?”

The thing is, there are times when I just get tired of the mess that remains in this place. Between Jan and Kris, I’ve paid good money to render the house clean and presentable; or at least orderly enough so that we can pass through each room without tripping over stuff (and I realize that I’ll never quite get there in the bedroom, considering the hookup between the computer and the television screen). The least I can do is to maintain that cleanliness and order in between their visits as much as possible.

But I’m not the only one in the house, nor the only one putting it through its paces. Stuff goes on here that I have next to nothing to do with. Which would be fine if the boys were to pick up after themselves; they could do all manner of things in this place, and if they cleaned up after they were done, I wouldn’t even be the wiser for it, nor would it bother me if I were. But that’s not what happens, as a general rule.

Just this morning, as I was about to head out to the gym, I realized that Daniel had left his platter of leftovers from Sunday dinner on the bed. To be sure, I leave various foodstuffs on your side of the bed for him to snack on while we hang out together watching this or that, but I do wish that he’d do something with the things he finishes. When I point it out to him, he always apologizes profusely for leaving them behind – and I’m fully convinced that he’s sincere in those apologies – but since he always forgets the next time around, I sometimes wish he wouldn’t bother with them. I don’t want an apology, I just want the stuff picked up. And while I could pick it up for him – and did this time around, since I was the only one awake at the time – I worry if I’m coddling him when I do.

Meanwhile, when I took the empty platters into the kitchen to rinse off for the recyclable bin, I caught a glimpse of the sink…

Again, you and I have certainly seen worse, but given what’s there, it wouldn’t have taken all that long to rinse these things off. Especially the pizza peel; for all that soaking loosens up grease and food particulates from the plastic and china, it does wood no favors. A quick rubdown under running water to rinse off the worst of the staining, and setting it upright in the other sink to dry, and it would be so much better off. As it is, everything cakes on overnight, to the point where I have to take copper wool to it to get everything off of there.

Look, I get it; Logan likes to cook, but he doesn’t like to clean up afterwards. Meanwhile, I don’t like to cook, because I don’t like to clean up afterwards (I even line the air fryer with parchment paper, so as to minimize the mess when I heat up my leftovers). But somebody has to do it, at some point, and I hate the fact that it’s become a game of chicken in the sink; who’s going to give in first and actually do the cleaning up? And why is it always me?

This is the sort of game that bachelors play with each other when they’re rooming together. I should know; I went to college, too, and roomed with a different guy each year. Sure, it wasn’t as if there was a kitchenette in the dorm rooms (I mean, there was one in the common room, but when you have a cafeteria, who bothers much with that, except on Sunday evenings?); the rooms were divided up such that one person could be a Felix and the other an Oscar, and as long as there was an invisible boundary delineating where one person’s space ended and the other’s began, there could still be harmony. Let the other guy have his mess, and I’ll do what I can to keep my order.

Although in fairness, I don’t have much in the way of order, either, do I? I know where everything is, and that’s sufficient for me, but I really don’t have any call to get upset about stuff like this; and yet I do.
Likewise, I’m not totally innocent about the dining room, either; while my spot at the table is clear enough to set down a plate, the computer to the left and the papers just to the right of my seat are, in fact, mine. This is where I used to – and still do – take care of what monthly bills still require check payments and the like, so I don’t bother getting rid of everything of mine. On the other hand, if I did get rid of everything on the table, you’d hardly be able to tell, for all the stuff on here that belongs to Logan. I’m honestly not sure if he’s run out of room in his own room for his stuff.

Still, when it comes to ‘stuff’ and papers, I’m not generally bothered by it, as you might be able to vouch for. It’s clutter, for sure, but it’s not dirty, per se (well, I don’t look at the contents of someone else’s stuff, but that’s a whole other meaning of the word). What gets under my skin are dishes with bits of food clinging to them, their grip getting tighter the longer they’re left to hold onto the plates and plastic. A quick rinse upon using, and setting them in the dishwasher; is that so much to ask?

And yet, when I got back from the gym, there was more stuff in the sink, now that I’d gotten the peel out. I swear, they just know I’m going to do the rinsing I speak of, so they don’t have to. And while I don’t like the idea of coddling them, I prove them right every time, because I don’t want the stuff stuck onto them. Save the lessons for later, even if it’s already been more than thirty years of ‘later’ already.

Anyway, I just needed to get this off my chest, honey. I wonder if this is something you (and most moms, for that matter) have had to deal with, and I wish I knew how you did. Then again, all your influence didn’t get Daniel to clean up his act, so perhaps that’s not a question worth asking you about.

For now, though, I’ve got to get on with my day, so I will just ask you to keep an eye on me and him (and maybe Logan as well?), and wish us luck, as you can see that we’ll need it.

Published by randy@letters-to-rachel.memorial

I am Rachel's husband. Was. I'm still trying to deal with it. I probably always will be.

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