The
other day, I theorized with a friend that the tangle of a childhood spent in
base housing still impacts my life fifty years later. While some of my friends
grew up surrounded by clutter, our military routine of moving every three or
four years meant we traveled lean and mean. My mother never feared the
demanding, detailed inspections of our housing since she cleaned everything all
the time. She assigned me and my siblings age appropriate duties that were
completed daily, weekly, or monthly. My sister’s expertise became dish washer
extraordinaire. The iron became my weapon of choice as I stood for hours
pressing Dad’s white handkerchiefs or the bed sheets that had wrinkled down
into a tight ball.
My
siblings abhor housework. They both attend to the necessities: dishes, laundry,
lawns, shopping. They managed, somehow, to escape the flaw I ironed into my
personality. Before retiring from the classroom, I drove myself and my family
into exhaustion by expecting everyone to reach my unrealistic standards for the
house. Fingerprints never lasted on any painted wall. Base boards gleamed. No
one ever checked over my door frames, because in real life, they don’t matter.
But a white glove test could’ve been run at any time with perfect results.
Doing
less never worked for me. Letting things “go” slung me into anxiety attacks. As
time passed, I can embrace the freedom of my husband and son having their space
to putter in without going ballistic at their creative messes. Imagine my
delight when I retrained my brain to close doors on rooms that are not my
territory!
In
retirement, the grace of having time translates into set days for different
chores. Monday we “market” with grocery runs and other errands. Tuesdays, if
the weather’s not too hot or cold, go to either cleaning the car or doing yard
work. Wash days are Wednesdays. Thursdays turned into the hardest day for me:
NO CHORE THURSDAY. I read, watch television, and do only projects that bring me
bliss. I hold onto Mom’s Friday drill: bathrooms top to bottom, dusting, and
floors just in case unexpected company arrives.
I’d
like to say that my expectations have lightened up over the years, but then I’d
be lying to everyone!
Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
No comments:
Post a Comment