Let me give you cause to rejoice.
Just after our first child was born, economics forced that I go live with my mother during the week so she'll take care of our daughter (some 40 miles from our house) so I could go back to work and get caught up on bills a rough pregnancy had piled up.
I went home most every weekend for the 4 months we had this arrangement. After working 40-50 hours a week at manual labor job and then being single mom all week, I had an entire house to clean every weekend. After a while, I just couldn't do it all and stopped, informing him that he had to pick up the slack and giving him a list of minimum tasks he had to take care of (ie: rinsing dishes off, putting clothes in hamper, throwing empty things in the garbage)--which he agreed to.
When I brought the baby home after a few months of a very emotionally strained but financially satisfying experience, the house was a pit. There were PILES of garbage throughout the living room. I could not pull the chairs from the dining room table for all the crap around the room or for fear of toppling what was piled on the table. There were untouched dishes stacked and molding from the very weekend he agreed to help out. I won't go into what horrors lay in the bathroom or our bedroom.
My mother, two sisters and I cleaned that place for a solid 3-day weekend, 10-12 hours a day, in order to bring it to the point it was safe to bring a baby just being to crawl into.
And when we were done? I got b****ed at because he couldn't find his stuff. Actually, I still get b****ed at because his stuff disappeared, now over 20 years ago and most of that after the divorce.
That make you feel any better, goatmam?