The Chore Wars: Moms Scorekeeping Confessions

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Scorekeeping, the endless tit-for-tat over who's working harder, who has it tougher. Does this sound familiar? “I paid all the bills, bought a birthday present for your mother, read Goodnight Moon five times, took four six-year-olds to Chuck-E-Cheese . . . and that was just Tuesday. . . .” “Excuse me, but did I not make the kids breakfast every morning last week, including the morning it made me late for my presentation, when I really should have gone in early? And I picked up the dry cleaning without being asked, and I did bath duty three times last week. What more do you want?” The three of us have at one time or another been serious scorekeepers. We’re not proud to admit it, but there you have it. We each had different styles and our own way of letting our husbands know the score. Notice we are using the past tense. That is somewhat aspirational, but we have improved enormously and we’re still working on it. Meet the Silent Sulker, the Quarterly Exploder, and Exacto Woman:

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Parenthood on the Weekend: The Scorekeeping Super Bowl

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Before you had kids, remember your Saturday and Sunday? Forty-eight hours of R&R. You could stay in bed (together) until noon . . . or not. You could have brunch at your favorite little bistro. Take in a movie. Paint your toenails, paint his toenails. The options were endless. He did his stuff. You did your stuff. Then you did some couple stuff. Remember when the most taxing issue you had was “Hey, what’ll we do this weekend?” Kids arrive, and that question becomes, “You’re doing what this weekend?” The what being fishing, jogging, aerobics, a manicure, work, golf, or whatever activity it is that takes you away from kids and spouse for more than thirty minutes. “I really resent that he wants to take off for five hours to play golf on Saturday, then he expects me to be oh-so-grateful because he watches the kids while I go to yoga for an hour. Big friggin’ deal.” —Jane, married 9 years, 2 kids Welcome to the weekend, the Scorekeeping Super Bowl. “TGIF? That’s a joke. Thank God it’s Monday is more like it. I kiss my desk on Monday morning.” —Dev, married 7 years, 2 kids “Peter and I argue over ‘pacing.’ He’s not in any hurry, but I feel like I have to keep moving or the whole family will be buried in laundry, toys, dishes, and dust bunnies. I can’t stop. And I can’t take a break. If I take a break, then the baby will want to nurse by the time I’m ready to start working again and I will fall further behind. Meanwhile, he wants to relax on the weekend and sip his coffee. I want him to be up and cleaning the bathroom.” —Kelly, married 8 years, 3 kids

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