Is it a mom's duty to clean house?
Guest blogger Jenny Isenman debates the age-old question to clean or not to clean.
Jenny is a freelance writer/humor columnist and wiper of noses, tushies and countertops. She has two perfect children, a boy who is 7 and a girl who is 4.
She has a fabulously funny and relatable Suburban Jungle blog: It May Be Suburbia, But it's a Jungle Out There.
I remember the days before I found a regular housekeeper. I cleaned a lot!
In fact, I could do nothing else around my house until it was clean. I would clean in the morning, watch my kids immediately undo my work, and then clean the same stuff all over again.
I would Swiffer at 9 a.m. when they went to school and at 9 p.m. when they went to bed. Each time I was amazed at how long it took to clean the house and how quickly it became undone.
I made up fascinating “cleaning games” to justify not spending time playing Nerf dart tag or doing spin art like the “good Mommies” did.
Our play was much more educational. I honed my son’s eye for detail and fine motor skills: “Jake, let’s see if you can match the socks and roll them neatly into pairs.”
I knew Jake was a true genius the day he found matches for the 23 mate-less socks I had been rewashing for a year.
I taught my daughter about the nuances of tone and hue: “Ryan, which colors are dark and which are light?”
I considered asking my husband for help, but the truth is, to watch him try and clean could send us straight to divorce court. He would say, “Just do it once a day, why waste your time?”
If you want the job done right (i.e. your way) you have to do it yourself.
I couldn’t delegate because I was too disappointed in the way someone would load my dishwasher. Loading a dishwasher takes serious problem-solving skills and visual prowess; done correctly, it is an algorithm of perfectly fitting pieces with not a single one to spare.
Okay, I’m beginning to sound pathetic, but some of you actually get what I’m saying. You know who you are, you’re the ones thinking: "Please, my dish-loading could kick your &#$*."
Well, you know what I say? Bring it!
I was so vehemently against having help because I was sure it would reflect on some inability to be a good Mother/Housewife (a title I never thought I would covet the way that I do).
However, my need to have “a life” won out and I hired someone.
After a single day I felt like screaming “FREEDOM!” while swooshing down a mountain with a cool breeze on my face, or into a deep echoing canyon while blowing my Riccola horn.
But, alas, Florida is flat.
So, I traipsed into the lake (swamp) in our backyard, and screamed at the top of my lungs.
As soon as I zigzagged back into my house, I considered all of my options: Grocery shop, get Starbucks with a friend, shop for my kids, get a mani/pedi, shop for myself, go to the gym, get Starbucks again.
My days were filled with endless monotony and it was exhilarating.
Of course some days I was too tired from all the shopping and Starbucks, so we lazed on the sofa together and watched Sponge Bob.
Each day I returned to a neat and straightened house, with clean clothes and an organized pantry.
I began saying things that gave away control like, “You know, I don’t care if you rearrange my drawers, whatever is easier for you.” I had to make phone calls to find out where my daughter’s stuffed kitty and my new Hogan bag were, and I reveled in it.
So, I decided to write again. Three weeks later, I felt reborn and my Amex felt dejected, jumping out of my bag anytime we so much as drove past a retail store.
My Amex, however, wasn’t the only one let down. A week later my housekeeper told me she was offered a job at a physical therapist’s office. I said, “Are you kidding me? Who do you expect to do my laundry, clean the kitty litter, the dog pee, the garage… me? I had that job once, it sucked!” Luckily, when I talk fast she doesn’t understand a word.
Then I slowly said “You have to take it, congratulations!” and gave her a huge hug.
She still comes about five hours a week because in her own words: “I’ll help as much as I can. I know how much you need me.”
Apparently, she’s never seen me load a dishwasher, but if you don’t tell, I won’t either.
Jenny has a forthcoming book titled C://Mom Run: Stories from the world's most-harried mommy bloggers.
Gretchen Day-Bryant has a son in high school and a daughter in middle school. She’s lived to tell about the struggles of juggling little kids and work.
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Rafael Olmeda and his wife welcomed their first son in Feb. 2009, and he's helping raise two teenage stepdaughters.
Lois Solomon lives in Boca Raton with her husband and three daughters.
Georgia East is the parent of a five-year-old girl, who came into the world weighing 1 pound, 13 ounces.
Brittany Wallman is the mother of Creed, 15, and Lily, 7, and is married to a journalist, Bob Norman. She covers Broward County government, which is filled with almost as much drama as the Norman household. Almost.
Chris Tiedje is the Social Media Coordinator and the father of a 7-year-old girl, and two boys ages 4 and 3.
Kyara Lomer Camarena has a 2-year-old son, Copelan, and a brand new baby. 
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