There’s no wrong way to load a toilet paper roll. There, I said it. I realize an under-hand feed is the visual equivalent to nails on a chalkboard for some, but here’s the hard truth: No matter how the paper unrolls, it gets the job done.
If you’re the type to religiously monitor the orientation of your bathroom tissue, power to you. With a two year old and a four month old needing me essentially around the clock, I tend to use any alone time on the porcelain throne blissfully zoning out or mentally rehearsing my Oscar acceptance speech until I reach for something to wipe with. A roll loaded either way is still loaded.
Getting the Job Done . . . with Gratitude
This is my mantra recently, after six years of marriage and two kids. As long as things get done, the details of how they get done don’t matter. This applies to just about any type of housework — from loading the dishwasher to vacuuming, and from folding towels to mowing the lawn and ironing ALL the clothes. (Wait . . . did you really think I still bother to iron? Bwa-ha-haaaaa!)
My husband and I have settled into a comfortable rhythm when it comes to housework. Because I stay at and work from home, the majority falls to me. I am genuinely okay with this (even if I do sometimes feel a tiny pang of resentment while rinsing the occasional “poopsplosion” out of adorable footie pajamas or inevitably scrubbing a skillet for the HUNDREDTH TIME this week). My husband takes out the trash and recycling, does the yard work, and handles house repairs that don’t risk electrocution or require some type of certification. I do pretty much everything else.
If deadlines, crazy schedules, sickness, or other circumstances have me feeling underwater, he will lend a hand with dishes or laundry. I’ve learned to accept his help with gratitude. I know that many single, working mamas don’t have a partner to take on chores at home (mine didn’t). Any help I get at this stage of mommyhood is exactly the right help. Why would I waste time re-loading a dishwasher just so plates align the “right” way or so that extra glass fits on the top rack? (It runs pretty much continually in my house, and an over-full dishwasher doesn’t clean properly, anyway.)
Any Help Is the Right Help
When I find underwear in my drawer folded differently than I typically would, I don’t see an error to be corrected. I see an act of service to my family by the man who works hard every day. We accommodate each other’s quirks. I learned to fold shirts the way he was used to as a bachelor. He learned my complicated — and totally sensible — kitchen drawer organization system. (Why wouldn’t the tea infuser belong in the same drawer as the salad tongs? They’re both for SERVING. Duh.)
There are some chores for which neither of us care; therefore, our yard will always be weedy and our dress shirts will always be wrinkled. (Seriously, if the hubs wants a shirt ironed for work, he knows how to do it . . . and he has in the past.) There are some things about which I am meticulous but of which I must either take full ownership — or not complain. For example, I prefer spotless mirrors and grime-free windows. But when I have neither time nor energy to lovingly wipe every glass surface with a damp microfiber towel and then polish with a lint-free cloth, I can still see through smudged hand prints on my windows and streaks in my mirror.
Most days, I’m lucky if I so much as get a good look at my reflection or check that my blouse is buttoned up correctly when I finally make it to the bathroom. When the morning has whirled past and left me a tense, exhausted mess of spit-up stains and flyaway hairs, the last thing I worry about is whether my toilet paper rolls from the top or bottom.