You know that old joke about the man who comes home to find his home in utter disorder? The one where he finds his wife in bed and asks, "What happened?" and she says, "You know how you are always asking, 'What did you do all day?' well, today I didn't do it."
Yesterday I literally sat in the recliner and held a feverish baby all day while my house "maintained chaos" around me. Today I walked down the stairs and felt like that woman. Yesterday's lunch dishes are still on the table with food dried to them. Dinner dishes are wherever someone could find a place to put them down when people finished eating the frozen pizza. Clothes are scattered hither and yon. Toys are everywhere. The laundry is exactly as I left it.
The only reason that there isn't rotting roast on the table together with condiments is because I took the time to scoop the (very expensive) meat into a container and into the fridge while Charming howled.
I don't know exactly what my point is. It isn't that my husband is shirking, necessarily. I guess it is just that if General Mom isn't facilitating life, life doesn't happen. At least orderly life. And considering few people would consider life at my house even close to orderly, that's saying something.