Housewifery

Over the weekend, I went to visit my sainted Nana. She was on my back about two things: having a baby (sorry, girlfriend - did you know you can't leave those alone in the house?!) and leaving Chris in the house, alone, without dinner and GASP - without his laundry done for the week. When she found out I hadn't done the laundry yet, I think she actually felt guilty. She sheepishly looked at me and said, "Will he be upset?"

Hell no he won't be, if he knows what's good for him. But he's also not the kind of guy who will just ignore it if it piles up. I really like knowing that all the clothes are clean and put away by Sunday at 9pm but sometimes it just doesn't happen. I worked all day on Saturday and came home to a sparkling kitchen and a load of whites tumbling away. But I always have to remember that when Chris says, 'I did a load of laundry,' it means that there's a wet load in the washer. Sometimes it's the linguistics of the thing that gets in the way.

Still and all, when my Nana was my age (1956), you didn't just ignore the laundry. I imagine her having long days spent like Calpurnia's (nerd alert!),  cutting biscuits and swatting bottoms out the door, sipping lemonade and spraying starch on my grandfather's shirts. Either that or something like Tuesdays in the Little House on the Prairie, she and my aunt singing merrily while they strung sheets and bloomers out to dry. I'm sure it wasn't like that. Stories from my father alone disprove the sense of peace she always emits when discussing the wonders of being a housewife.

Nowadays, I'm working full time AND expected to do the bulk of the housework. I don't know what starch is for. I didn't have an iron until about six months ago when I acquired my first really excellent tablecloth. And while I'm no stranger to a little elbow grease around the house, Chris is the Bathroom Tzar, and the Tzar of Trash, and I'm not saying he doesn't help out because he does. But at the end of the day, when there's dog hair in every corner and every towel smells like sweat, it's me who expects myself to go get the vaccuum and whip out the bleach. No one else but me holding myself to that elusive standard that my Nana set so long ago. When I get upset with myself for leaving the laundry until 9pm on Tuesday night, there's no one else to be upset - I am, after all, my own housewife.