Chores. The word that, as a child, would make me come up with a sudden prior commitment, a misplaced cell phone, or some sort of bedridden ailment.
Chores. The word, that as a semi-adult, would still make me come up with excuses, take a necessary nap in avoidance, but the end result would be finding my cell phone.
It’s funny to think about how much you’ve actually grown up compared to yourself as a child. I used to cringe at the thought of doing dishes, but now I will head hunt a roommate and give her a hairy eyeball until she goes and washes the pan from two days ago.
I don’t think I’ve grown up that much, but there are certain aspects of life I’ve accepted as growing up since I’ve moved out.
Making your bed:
Kid: The only time I made my bed was when my mom made me change my sheets. I just rolled out of bed, then rolled right back in at the end of the night. Covers still disrupted, it was easy to just pull them back over my gross kid body and call it a night.
Adult: I will forget to bring a lunch to work but you better bet your bottom dollar I make my bed. There are few greater pleasures than getting ready to go to sleep and hopping inside a freshly made bed. The warmth of the blankeys permeated through the sheets. Just pure heaven. An absolute must before leaving in the morning.
Kid: Laundry consisted of me finding what looked the cleanest on the floor and putting it back onto my body. If I mustered up the motivation and strength to put everything in a basket and bring it upstairs, mamma Meg would take care of that problem. Shirts always perfectly folded, socks always perfectly coupled. I don’t think I ever had missing footwear as a child. My mom had that shit on LOCK.
Adult: Laundry consists of me finding what looks the cleanest on my floor and putting it back onto my body. If I muster up the motivation and strength to gather everything into a basket and bring it into the laundry room, chances are I waited too long to fit it all into one machine. Nothing is ever folded. Socks are always missing. Laundry is a constant battle.
Kid: Don’t get me started. I could catch a disease washing a dish. Especially growing up with three boys, I saw how they ate. No regard for manners, politeness, or basic chewing. I was not in any way, shape, or form touching those plates. Got to the point where if I didn’t do my dishes, my mom would actually take them and put them on my bed. And as we learned earlier, my bed was never made – so that made for a very unpleasant situation.
Adult: I learned very quickly after moving out that doing dishes is essential. When you live with people you don’t know, it’s important to keep the place clean. Or, you quickly learn to question how people were raised when you see them leave dishes in the sink, bowls on the counter, and mugs on the table for days on end. Also, never been more excited to see a dishwasher in my life than when I moved into my new apartment.
Cleaning the house:
Kid: Cleaning the house meant one of two things, either I was being punished, or relatives were coming, which in some cases, could be punishment in itself. Nothing worse than knowing Thanksgiving was coming up and remembering I have to polish the entire silver set that we use for thirty minutes a year. “But it’s because it’s your grandmother’s.” My mom would always say. Okay mom.
Adult: Now I just clean because the place is filthy and I can’t stand having to walk around wearing shoes. A good vacuum is hard to come by, but essential for my sanity. I never understood why my mom put so much effort into cleaning when guests were going to come and dirty up the place. But as a mature, cultured adult, I understand that presentation is important, and first, second, and all the time impressions are always measured. CLEAN YA HOUZE.
..Now excuse me, I have to go decide whether or not I’m going to shower tonight.