Tuesday, January 30, 2007
The Accidental Housewife
Growing up I never aspired to be a housewife. In fact I didn’t even know anyone who would admit to such a thing. My aspirations were to be rich and powerful. True they haven’t changed much though I try to squeeze sanctity in whenever I can.
In fact I told my future husband when we were dating that I wanted to be fair to him and felt obligated to tell him that I wasn’t interested in marriage and that my career would always come first. After I was well established (and naturally rich) I would adopt handicapped children. They would be cared for lovingly by a well chosen nanny during the day and doted on by me in the evenings and on weekends. They would be driven around in a Mercedes station wagon. Black of course
Somewhere along the way I got a clue, married the prince from Cinderella and began to have children. A fair number of them. We don’t have a black Mercedes but a Suburban dubs in very nicely. And I find myself irretrievably, inexplicably and inescapably a housewife.
Just when the feminists thought that they had driven every housewife from the shores of the new land something very strange happened. Home Comforts, Martha Stewart, Desperate Housewives, Crafts, Scrapbooking, and homestyle honest-to-goodness- from scratch cooking
Housekeeping is nearly all the rage. We long for antique textiles, time to quilt, crochet and knit, reproduction sewing patterns, vintage aprons, speckled ironware, a Kitchen Aid mixer and a commercial oven. Stainless steel of course.
Introducing the blogs that make housekeeping cool and elegant and feed our appetite for frivolity and romance- all at the same time.
Brocante home- this I call my guilty pleasure. You’ll understand.
Martha Stewart- love her or hate her she started the revolution and we must acknowledge that even though she has gotten very, very rich in the process.
There is power in knowing that you can whip up a batch of peanut butter cookies at 10:30 at night that will melt in your mouth and elevate you to goddess status among your children and husband, or sew a costume for an upcoming dance recital that will have the audience amazed, or celebrate a birthday lunch out with your girlfriend and realize that you could horrify your sweet young waitress by announcing that between the two of you- you have 18 children. (I didn’t do it).
Acknowledge the power in the hand that rocks the cradle and rules the world and the kitchen and the laundry room and the parlor. Reign over your home like a queen, for that is what you are.