I heard a term today for the first time that refers to the common tasks men are expected to do at home. BLT (not the sandwich) stands for Barbecue, Lawn, Trash. As long as they are accomplishing those things, all ‘should’ be well. There are some women who say, “He helps around the house or helps take care of the children.” When I sit with clients in my therapy practice who ascribe to this model because it is what their families did or roll their eyes in exasperation since they want it to change, I remind them to ask their male partner “Whose house is this? Whose children are they?” Women are no more responsible for creating a family and maintaining a home than men.
When I was growing up, my parents modeled shared responsibility at home. My father worked full time outside the home as a milkman and then later on, as a bus driver. My mother had part-time jobs that enabled her to be there when we came home from school. She then took a full -time job when my sister and I were old enough to be more independent ‘latchkey kids’.
With our father, my sister and I would clean the garage, assist in the garden and vacuum (which he called “mowing the carpet”). It had a Mary Poppins feel to it, as an “element of fun” was added to these otherwise tedious tasks. What I also appreciate now, is that my father didn’t “help around the house,” as was considered the norm for men of his generation, but rather, he took equal accountability for the upkeep of their home.
When I became a single parent to my 11-year son after I was widowed at 40, I attempted to instill in him, the same organizational and cleanliness standards that I had, to keep my life in order during the whirlwind of change and trauma. This, I discovered was a herculean task. Throughout his adolescence, he would complain, “I don’t know why I even clean my room. It just gets messy again.” I reminded him that it didn’t get that way on its own.
I added my perception that the way someone treats their environment reflects how they feel about themselves and that a more organized space could allow him to think more clearly. I admit that I am not white glove clean, but when I adhered to the house rules I printed out and posted on a kitchen cabinet, my life became more manageable.
- If you open it, close it.
- If you take it out, put it away.
- If you drop it, pick it up.
- If you make a mess, clean it up.
- If you break it, let me know and either fix it or replace it.
We would also battle it out over dishes left in the living room, dining room on the kitchen counter or in the sink, and shoes, jacket, and clothes dropped on the floor. I reminded him that his room was on the way to those places and encouraged him to take anything out of any room that he had brought in once he left the space. I demonstrated for him that taking a dish from the sink or counter and putting it in the dishwasher took less than 30 seconds to accomplish. It wasn’t until he was an adult, living with his then-fiancée, now wife, that he more fully applied those rules. I was relieved, as I had told him many years earlier, that I was teaching him these skills, “for the benefit of my potential future daughter-in-law.” I was gratified that it came to pass. My daughter-in-law said what everyone mother-in-law would love to hear, “Thank you for raising the man of my dreams.”
As a self-taught chef, he keeps her well nourished, although I imagine she does the dishes. They share cleaning responsibilities, gardening, and laundry. He is far more than a BLT dude.
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