The hell of having a work-from-home husband! After my 11-hour day I get home to mess everywhere and no dinner on the table... so what DOES he have to say for himself?
Each night when I’m travelling home from London to Haywards Heath on the train, shattered from my 11-hour day in the office, I close my eyes and fantasise about the same thing.
Not winning the lottery, not some Hollywood hunk. No, I’m imagining the bliss of returning to a clean house and the glorious aroma of supper cooking. But that’s all it is. A fantasy.
Instead, more often than not, I’m greeted by croissant crumbs on work surfaces, dishes in the sink, screwed up paper on the floor where he’s aimed for the bin and missed, and not so much as a sandwich waiting for me.
I usually whip myself up a quick omelette as my husband Max, a photographer, heads off to London to shoot a red carpet event. Before going to bed I have a quick tidy up, meaning that Max comes home to a pristine house.
I’m not the only one who’s jealously eyeing a partner’s life at home. The number of men who have yet to return to the office post pandemic while their wives suffer the daily commute is increasing dramatically, according to a recent report.
Sociologists believe it’s due to the fact that women are far more likely to work in healthcare, education or retail where remote working is not possible.
Claire Cisotti, the assistant editor of the Daily Mail's Royal Channel, admits she jealously eyes up her husband Max's life at home
As the assistant editor of the Daily Mail’s Royal Channel, my alarm goes off at 5am and I’m out of the house 15 minutes later. I live my life to a military-like schedule. Before setting off, I write Max a note with details of a few chores I’d like him to do — a few reasonable requests to lighten my load.
In the morning I usually put laundry in the washing machine (on the timer to make sure it doesn’t wake Max up) and ask him to put it out to dry.
He’ll put it on a clothes horse in the utility room when, in nice weather, I’d much rather he used the washing line.
But, after 25 years of marriage, I’ve learnt to pick my battles and getting Max to take a basket of laundry into the garden is one I’m never going to win.
I’m also never going to get him to do the grocery shopping or prepare meals. He usually eats the same thing every day — biscuits for breakfast; croissant and Nutella for lunch; pizza for dinner. If I didn’t already know his taste in food, I’d be able to work it out from the crumb trails.
Other things on his chore list include emptying the dishwasher, putting the rubbish out and hoovering. If I know he’s had a busy and late night then I won’t ask him to do much.
He’ll tick things off on the list to show he’s done them and, to give him his dues, he does mostly do as asked. I just wish I didn’t have to leave a list in the first place, that he noticed what needs doing instead. That said he did a huge pile of ironing the other day which made me so happy.
Come the weekend I’m shattered and have pretty much zero social life. Any time I do have is taken up with chores. I cook all our weekend meals, batch cook for the week ahead and also prepare, cook and deliver meals for my 82-year-old mother, who lives 15 minutes away and suffers from osteoporosis.
I do the food shop, change the bedding, wash the floors, clean the bathroom, hoover and water the garden plants.
By Sunday night the house is spotless and it gives me such joy, even though I know that on Monday evening it will, once again, look like a bunch of teenage squatters have moved in. Three or four times a week we row about the state of the house.
Max is working on his admin and editing when he’s at home during the day, I understand that. But his work isn’t non-stop and he definitely has downtime. I always plump up the sofa cushions before I go to work, yet will often return to a big Max-shaped dent in them from where he’s been lying down watching TV.
It’s our silver wedding anniversary this year and I made it clear to him I’m not going to have yet another summer holiday where I’m looking after everyone else. I want to stay in a posh hotel for two weeks and be waited on hand and foot. He’s agreed and paid for it all, so I’m delighted with that victory (even if our daughter Mimi, 20, sourced the hotel).
When the children were little, Max was a brilliant hands-on dad to Mimi and our son Zac, 24, who no longer lives at home. I just wish he was a bit better around the home now they need him less.
I know that if the tables were turned and I was at home all day the house would be immaculate, the cupboards would be stocked and my hard-working husband wouldn’t ever have to fantasise about having his dinner waiting for him. Why is it so hard for him to provide that for me?
Max works on his admin and editing from the couple's Haywards Heath home in West Sussex
Claire’s husband Max, 53, says: I’m sure that if someone drew up a graph of household chores, detailing everything Claire and I did over the course of the year, it would be pretty much 50-50. There are days when I’m busy and can’t do much and I’m often not around at weekends either, but over the course of a year, I feel certain the list of chores would even out.
I do my admin work during the day, then head out to take photographs at night. Most evenings I get home around midnight or 1am, so I’m still sleeping when Claire gets up and writes her daily to-do list for me.
I have no problem with the list. Lack of communication is a big cause of marital strife, so it’s a help to know what’s expected.
If I had one teeny criticism though, it would be better for me if she put a time frame on things, so that I knew if something is urgent or less important. It might be obvious to her but it’s not to me. If she spelt out must do immediately, then I’d do it.
I’m always going to prioritise my work ahead of doing something in the home. Editing photographs for a deadline is going to come before emptying the dishwasher. Claire checks in with me every day and nudges me to get things done. I don’t mind and it’s actually rather useful because I am forgetful.
Claire bemoans the state of the house she comes home to after 11-hour days in the office, especially considering she's the one that makes sure it looks pristine on Sunday evenings
It’s true that, technically, Claire works more hours than I do, but my work is very physical. When I’m out I’m on my feet the whole time, easily walking five or six miles at a time with heavy camera equipment. That’s led to me having back problems, which is why I’m so reluctant to mow the grass — something which annoys Claire.
At times our tiredness can make us snippy with each other. And I know my attitude to food and meals really grinds her gears. It’s not deliberate, I’m just like most blokes in that I don’t really think about food until I’m hungry.
I’m certainly not planning meals days or even hours in advance like she does. I try to make amends in other ways. I did a fantastic barbecue for the family last weekend, for example. I did a ton of ironing this week too. The more I think about it, the more I think it would be unreasonable to suggest that I don’t pull my weight at home.
I’m very neat and always tidy up after myself. Claire couldn’t have any complaints in that department.
OK, the stress of work probably means I forget a few things, but when I do something, I do it well and she never criticises, which I’m grateful for.
We’ve made it to 25 years I would say that a big part of that is down to our great teamwork.’
- As told to Claudia Connell
