When did being "just a housewife" become synonymous with being a drudge? Or is it just me? When did we lose our identity? Just because we don't have an excuse to leave the house, the pets and the kids every day doesn't mean we don't have a purpose.
We're the financiers, chauffeurs, seamstresses, housekeepers, ad nauseam, of the household. We're expected to be at our family's beck and call 24/7. It's enough to drive a poor woman to start drinking the vanilla.
The cruelest cut of all is the fact that we're expected to know our kids' (or in my case grandkids') names, ages, etc. at the drop of a hat. Not to mention, what grade they're in. One of our granddaughters was at our house the other day working on her pre-algebra homework. Unfortunately, she made the mistake of asking me for help.
Trinity: "Nana, can you help me?"
Me: "With what?" Trinity: "Pre-algebra."
Trinity: "Pre-algebra."
Me: "I think I hear baby Xander crying. I'll be right back." (I didn't and I wasn't.)
She may as well have been asking me to translate her homework into Greek. Once they pass grade school age, they've lost me.
I would prefer the grandkids stick to subjects I can relate to – like food. Anything food related, I'm there. (Couldn't tell it by looking at me, could ya? Don't answer that.)
The kids love learning to bake, and that's one area where I can feel superior. Well, that and sewing (a.k.a. mending).
The other day, I was sitting in my recliner mending the hem on a pair of David's dress pants, and it hit me – mending, sewing, cooking, baking, even ironing are all becoming lost arts. In our throw-away society, as soon as something breaks we get rid of it and buy something new to replace it. Hopefully, we end up with something more up-to-date and with more bells and whistles than we'll ever use (at least for me). Who can I pass these skills on to?
I decided to corner one of our granddaughters to see if she would be interested.
"Hey, Mica," I said, "Do you want to learn how to do this?" I pointed to my iron and ironing board.
"What is that?" she asked, wrinkling her nose and peering a little closer.
"It's an ironing board and see, this is an iron," I held it up so she'd get a closer look. "Don't touch it. It's hot."
"Why would I want to do that?" she asked, clearly puzzled.
"So you can keep your clothes neat and pressed."
"Nana," she replied, clearly exasperated at my ignorance of 'modern' fashion, "they're supposed to look wrinkled. It's the style!"
She walked away, shaking her head. I saw her roll her eyes. I knew what she was thinking. All the household appliances I grew up with belong in an antique store or museum, that's what she's thinking.
As she was walking away, I noticed her jeans were ripped in several places. I wish she'd let me at 'em for a couple of days. I'd have all the holes in her clothes patched in no time.
I'm not sure if I should let the grandkids in on any of my housekeeping secrets, or maybe I will. I'd say stuff it all in the closets, drawers, and attic. Just kidding. Or am I? They won't know until it's too late since they're not allowed in any of those places and that's why.
The safe room has become another storage receptacle. Out of sight, out of mind, that's my motto. If we ever need to use the safe room for its intended purpose, we'll be in big trouble. I can just picture David and I frantically throwing stuff into the garage so we can get into it when a tornado is threatening. I'd never hear the end of it for sure. All I can say is, he should have married for someone for her housekeeping skills instead of looks. I heard that. Don't laugh.
Should I tell them I no longer have an interest in constant cleaning as I did when we were first married? I bought into the “housewives have to keep the house neat and clean at all times” credo. I got over that in a hurry.
Nah, I'll let them think that tracing words or stick figures in the dust on the furniture is a new home decorating technique; that dust provides a protective layer over our knick-knacks; that dust bunnies are our friends. I'll tell them dust bunnies are cute little objets d'art that add character to our little abode, especially if you stuff them into a jar and add a small string of lights.
Now I know why housewives are becoming extinct. We're boring. Ha Ha!