I have distinct memories of coming home after school. I would go to the fridge and grab a snack and a drink. Whatever dishes I created would then be placed in the sink. My four brothers would follow behind me and follow the same procedure and the dishes would pile up higher and higher.
When my mother would get home, her face would wrinkle in frustration. Immediately, she would walk to the sink and begin scrubbing all of the dishes that we had left. At dinner, she would complain about how much she hated coming home to a dirty house. It ruined her day, no matter how good it had been.
I sympathized with her, I suppose...but only to an extent. Never did my mother come seek us out when she got home--even if we were all there. Instead, she would simply do the dishes, then complain to us later. As stupid kids, we felt that it was easier to put up with the complaints than actually take care of our mess. It was simple mathematics.
I realized, later, though, that this was just a form of enabling on the part of my mother. Rather than hold me--and Tommy, Timmy, Paul, and Pat--accountable for our slobbishness, my mother was helping us through it and then complaining afterward. This lack of accountability in cleaning has continued to affect me. I invite all of you to look at my desk...or my entire room. It's a mess. My closet is a mess. I struggle to keep my spice cabinet orderly. I feel like some help on my mother's part when I was younger would help this.
I hope that when I'm a parent, I don't fall into the same trap that my mother did. Sometimes, in an act of self-reliance (or something), it's easier to just pick up after dirty people and then educate them later. Instead, it's probably healthier to point out their errors and have them clean up after themselves.
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