I wash the gold-rimmed China in my mother-in-law’s kitchen. I’m careful not to break the delicate blue-flowered plates that she uses for our Sunday meals. I even dry them with the cotton dishtowel and stack them neatly on the dining room table. I know later she’ll put them up in the warm wood buffet. And I wonder why I never take so much care (or pride) in cleaning my own things.
I also have nothing better to do on this Sunday afternoon at the in-laws’. As I mentioned before, Remi’s been working seven days a week, and as a compromise, I follow him to work at least one day of the weekend. Which means all my own chores are either crammed into Saturday or not done at all. Never mind that we’ve had a good deal of long weekends and in theory I should have been able to catch up. My own dining room table generally has bread crumbs from breakfast, piles of supermarket mailings and paperwork I need to file. My own sink is probably full, unless I courageously did the dishes at 9 the night before (after dinner at 8).
Yes, I’m still having a lot of trouble keeping up with housework. Despite trying to be more organized (not going empty-handed to the other side of the house, thus minimizing all that walking), the laundry basket, sink and pile of clothes to be ironed are overflowing. Dust bunnies are evolving into wooly mammoths. Mildew is staking claim in the bathroom. Those photo albums for my wedding (from 2006!) and baby’s first months are still not done. And no, to answer your question, I don’t spend all my free time online, though I might be addicted to it in some form.
It's not that I want to be Martha Stewart perfect. But a minimum of cleanliness and organization would be nice. My aunt sent me a card before baby was born that said a clean house wasn’t as important as a happy baby. I sure hope baby’s happy, because the apartment surely ain’t clean.