Recently I joined in a (virtual) conversation between employed spouses about the frustrating and complex issue of how it is humanly possible for our respective stay-at-home spouses to accomplish so little on any given day. We are busy juggling work and family obligations, trying to find time to get our running in (this is a running-focused group, so that was a universal concern), giving up free time and leisure reading, working so that our families can have a roof and full tummies and the ever-essential health insurance. We're not total jerks, but boy, are some us frustrated with spouses whose days seem to stretch out before them, unimpeded by bosses, schedules, or (apparently) the task of cleaning the toilet. One participant remarked  wryly that sometimes dinner is on the table, homework is done, and the house is clean by 6; sometimes ... not. 

The catch, of course, is that in this particular conversation, all the employed folks are women. The stay-at-home spouses, some by design and some due to unemployment, are all men. (No annoyed lesbians chimed in, although I'm sure there are some out there.)

Damn, how things have changed. At least for me. I started back to work part-time in 2007, after a seven-year stint as a stay-at-home mother and Ph.D. candidate. My first (ever) full-time employment began last summer. My spouse worked, often grudgingly and unhappily, throughout our marriage. He routinely told people he would retire when I got a job; during arguments, especially if he was drunk or I was right, he would threaten to quit his job.

For about a year after I finished school, we both worked. Then he quit his job (long story; still not totally sure about some of the details, but it doesn't feel exactly accidental) and found another job, but cycled through it in two weeks, quitting again. He's still looking, but still unemployed.

This has been something of a boon to our kids, who no longer need after-school care, and in theory it should take some of the domestic burden from my shoulders. Turns out, not so much. Although he's home for 7 uninterrupted hours each day (unless I've tasked him with running my errands, which I do politely but without shame), the house is still mostly a mess. The kids watch TV from the time they get home until the time that I get home, when I turn the damned thing off and "encourage" them to go play.

As I told my virtual running friends, I feel caught. I don't want to bully him into cleaning to my standards, because it feels like shit to be a bully, and to be constantly called on the carpet for having failed to vaccuum it. I know, because back when it was mostly my job to keep the house clean, it often wasn't, and my husband often yelled about it.  (One memorable week he yelled once because the house was clean; then the next night because dinner was both late and simple, although the house was clean; the third night it was that there was a mess in the kitchen after I'd made an elaborate dinner and cleaned the rest of the house.)

But now the tables have turned, and he's the one at home, and I'm not sure what my role is. I'm not his mommy, I don't want to be his mommy, and if a man in his thirties can't figure out that he needs to sweep the floor, I'm not going to make him a fucking chore chart. I've tried various constructive approaches, but remain irritated by the chaos. I have so much more sympathy for his previous frustration than I did at the time, but no great wisdom.

On the other hand, there's a wierd, heady privilage to being the primary breadwinner. When a clerk in a store recently teased me after my husband pulled out cash to pay for something that was clearly for me, I knew I could have told him that in fact, I'm the one earning all the money. (I didn't, and instead smiled back and said "After you have kids, it's all shared money anyway.")  I know I can call my husband and instruct him to pull things from my closet and take them to the cleaners, and he'll do it or have to explain why he didn't. I came home last week and announced that my department (me, plus Good Colleague, plus students) is planning a trip to Central America next academic year, and won't that be fun for me? I can say as I usher the kids out the door in the morning, "Could you - clean the kitchen, maybe?" and sure, it's kind of snotty and entitled of me, but it needs doing, and it's not really on me to get it done.

Clearly there's a whole lot more going on here than housework, but for whatever reason housework is the place where I'm the most stuck. Every day, my space is a mess, and I honestly do not have the energy or the motivation or the time to clean it. Short of taking on the steriotypical, and painful, and destructive role of the beleagured husband,  I can't force change, and asking nicely mostly doesn't work. In so many ways, I feel stuck.