Last night during a lull in the rather spectacular thunderstorm, my husband had to grab a ladder, run out and clean our gutters. As I was putting clean clothes away, I noticed the rain pounding on the window in our bedroom was much louder than the rain anywhere else in our house. I’m not master of physics or the speed at which sound travels, but I didn’t figure it should be louder in the bedroom than in the bathroom which is actually attached to the bedroom. When I opened the blinds I saw the problem: rain was not only beating against the window pain but was actually collecting between the glass and the screen. It was about two inches deep and slowly seeping through the window into our actual bedroom. Towels were yelled for and left to soak up the water leaking onto our hardwood floor.
During the brief pause between torrential gusts of wind and rain, he made a dash for it. He pulled two rather large wads of leaves out of the gutter above our bedroom and the pile up stopped. He had to run back out just as the rain was picking up because the stockpile of water wasn’t quite draining. He actually had to lift the screen up a bit to get that to happen. Just before he had to start gathering two of every animal he got to come back in. This was especially lucky for him as the only animals we have around are cats and even though they are each of a different gender, they are both fixed.
I felt sorry for my husband as he stood dripping in the doorway. I had been in a similar predicament when I left school. My umbrella was in the only logical place it could be on a day like yesterday, the car. From the start of the last block until the time the bell rang, rain pummeled my second story classroom. Even though I waited in the foyer hoping it would let up just a little, eventually I had to take the plunge (quite literally as large puddles sprung up between the sidewalk and my parking space) and get very, very wet. As I drove down the road I actually realized my arms were dripping onto my already soaked pants.
As I watched him by the back door though, I was dry and cozy. I couldn’t feel too bad for him though because this is what he signed up for. When we bought our house nearly two years ago, we sat down and redistributed all of the chores. Our likes and dislikes were only touched upon before we agreed that I would take care of everything indoors and he would handle everything outdoors. Some people might think I got the shaft considering indoor chores consist of washing and folding all laundry, vacuuming, dusting, Hi list of duties is relatively small: take out the trash (including the cat litter), take care of the lawn, clean the gutters and shovel the driveway, but considering I hate extreme temperatures and ladders of any kind, I’m happy with our little arrangement. To this day I have never mowed a lawn and if I can help it, I never will. I care far less about what our lawn looks like than he does, so if he ever gets a bee in his bonnet to leave it for me, it can sit for a really, really long time as far as I’m concerned. Plus if I don’t feel like cooking, my husband can always be convinced to go out. Heck, he loves going out to eat.
Some days when I’m really tired and just don’t feel like cleaning I too think I got a raw deal, but days like yesterday while I’m snuggled up with the baby watching the rain instead of getting soaked through standing on a ladder while pulling slimy leaves out of a gutter, I have to admit vacuuming looks pretty darn sweet.
*Even though we eat lunch at work, I still pack both of our lunches the night before and cook dinner every night except one night on the weekends when we go out. I am still getting maternity leave half paychecks and daycare has set in so money is too tight to go out much. Breakfasts get packed with lunches so I lump them together.