my husband does the floors. washing, vacuuming, swiffing, sweeping. he does it all badly but i don't care, i'm not re-doing it. he does ALL outside work and ALL inside work that i deem hubby-work like painting. he does electrical and plumbing and carpentry work and snow shoveling. i do all cooking and cleaning, laundry, mending, animal care and childcare (when necessary). i order all delivery food.
i fill the dishwasher because he overfills, and he empties and puts away.
if i absolutely have to, for anything else, i leave written instructions, such as:
1. lift pan with your right hand and pick up scrapey sponge with your left.
2. with a swirling motion, scrub food bits and grease off the pan until it's all gone.
3. rinse. repeat with dishwash fluid and hot water until sparkles appear and you can see your reflection.
4. using clean dish towel, dry until all water is gone. put away.
when i'm sick, i leave similar instructions for laundry, with my heart in my mouth. letting him do the laundry means i'm dying, the house is piled with every stitch we own and the queen is on her way for her annual visit. it also means that even with instructions that bar-bar the elephant can follow, i will still be buried in a pink bra and underpants. and so will he. (no bra.)