Halfway Husbands

Before Frank and I got married, we attended a seminar that I like to call “Catholic Camp.” We were required to attend it by our church and they recommended that engaged couples go to camp about six months before the wedding. So when did we go? One week before the big day! Yes, we were “procrastination station” as Frank would say.

So natch, we spent most of our time at camp making last-minute wedding plans—who’s going to print the programs? How many RSVPs do we have? Do we have to share the cake with our guests?

But when we weren’t finalizing the details we actually participated in the group activities which included drawing our family trees, creating a skit and excessive drinking. Wait. There actually wasn’t any booze there. Hello? I thought this was a Catholic Camp. I don’t see how this is any different from Baptist Camp. And at least those couples get a shorter ceremony.

Anyway, we soberly participated in another activity—the chore assigner. In this exercise we separately filled out a form about which spouse was to do each chore. So for each one, we were to put a “W, H or B (for both)” Then we got together and evaluated.

On mine I had assigned everything as either “Husband” or “Both.” Oops. So we did some shuffling and came out with a fair list—I would grocery shop. He would take out the trash. We would both do the dishes.

So now we try to stick with our assigned chores. Except there’s one problem—Frank doesn’t like to complete chores. He does half of them. It’s like a trademark of his. So when he takes out the trash (which he’s very good about), he doesn’t put a new bag in the trash can. Half a chore!

Big deal? Well, it wouldn’t be if I weren’t obsessed with the “Ah” factor. I like to look around a room and say, “Ah.” That means that nothing is out of place, nothing is left undone, everything is perfect. Yikes. Maybe I need to go back to Catholic Camp to talk about my analness. But we’re focusing on halfway Frank here.

When Frank does a chore, I don’t get the “Ah” factor. Like the other night he offered to do the dishes while I finished a Writinggal task. How sweet. But when I came downstairs I KNEW he was going to leave something. Sure, the dishes were all in the dishwasher.
Good boy. But there were two glasses on the table along with a crumpled up napkin. Who can “ah” over that? Not me, that’s for sure.

I like to say “Well, that chore is done” and wipe my hands of it. So if there’s anything left of it—anything at all—it’s like the whole chore is not done to me.

I have to say, while this half a chore thing is frustrating, we have made a lot of progress. For instance, Frank understands that we don’t put food garbage in the bedroom trashcan. He puts all his dirty clothes in the hamper (in the correct section, yay!) and he lets me buy catsup in the bottle rather than making me steal packets from Wendy’s.

And that’s the kind of stuff they just don't teach you at Baptist Camp.