Am I JUST a Housewife?

I've come to the conclusion that I'll probably never work outside the home again. Between my daughter needing me accessible 24/7 (people don't want to hire someone with an unreliable schedule) and my inability to drive 15-20 days out of the month, not to mention no marketable skills (other than writing, of course) or formal education, getting a job doesn't seem like it's in the cards. But is it such a bad thing to be a housewife? Someone asked the question here, but no one really had an answer.

On a good day, I fancy myself Donna Reed or Doris Day. I do my hair and makeup, don a dress and apron, and flutter around my house making it beautiful.

It makes me happy. A clean and organized house makes me happy. My family drooling over what I made for dinner makes me happy. But being happy and making my family happy doesn't exactly pay the bills.

Since the day I stopped working outside the home (daycares don't allow teenagers, regardless of their disabilities) I've felt somewhat guilty that I don't contribute financially to our family. Sure, I sell books and even sometimes make more than a few dollars on my royalty checks, but that doesn't exactly keep a house afloat. But is the guilt rational? Is this something I've been ingrained with because of societal demands? What happened to having respect for those men or women who stayed home and ran the household? Why is it when I tell someone I'm a housewife, I immediately follow it up with "but I'm an author, too", as if being a housewife isn't a good enough "job"?

Day 2 - Why did I decide to do this again?

Day 2 started out fine. Got up, got the kids fed and off to school, then went about doing dishes and other housework. Because I've decided to take on the traditional role I went about with my feather duster making sure there wasn't a speck of dust anywhere, fluffing pillows, refolding sofa throws.

I didn't want to listen to the same ten songs again, so I turned on some Christmas music and danced along as I cleaned. What a great mood, what a great day! Ha! That is until I decided to clean my daughter's room. Let me give you a little background here; my daughter is fourteen but only has the mentality of a six or seven year old. When I tell her to clean her room that means she shoves as much as she can under her bed, in her closet, under her dressers, etc.

On with the story. As of last night there wasn't a single sock left in the laundry room - all laundry was caught up. Again...HA! After cleaning the darling daughter's room I ended up with FIVE HAMPERS full of dirty clothes from all over her room. That doesn't even include the summer clothes she hid that I still have to pack away, nor the trash I pulled out of some very interesting places.

Nonetheless, I'm Mommy Dearest this week. Wait, maybe that's not someone I should claim to be.

Whatever. I stretched a smile on my face, no matter how much it hurt to do so, and finished the room, and am now waiting for yet another load to finish washing and drying so I can put the clothes away. *sigh*

I ended up using the good old coffee maker instead of another failure with the percolator. I didn't sleep much and caffeine was much needed today. My knees are killing me, my feet are throbbing, my back aches...I can't imagine doing all this without my washer, dryer, vacuum cleaner, Swiffer duster. Oh, yes. My darling Swiffer duster.

I don't like using paper products (um, other than toilet paper, of course) so I make my own Swiffer covers. How appropriate that this pad has dog prints all over it. Do you realize how much hair I've cleaned up in the last few days? I mean, I always clean my house, but a good 50s housewife always made sure her home was spotless. I have no idea how they did that with toddlers at home, but I digress.

It was time to go to the grocery store. I made a promise to myself to stay as genuine as possible, and women in that day and age too pride in how they looked when they were in public, so it was off to slip this bad girl on:

You would think something so simple would be comfortable. You would think wrong. I don't know if my waist is lower than the original owner of this dress (this is an actual vintage dress), but I couldn't raise my arms and, with a belt, it was too snug. Anyway, here I go...

I assumed I would get looks...and I assumed correctly. Oh, you think I'm bluffing?

Yep, that's me picking out some bacon to go with my homemade potato soup. I opted for my usual purse instead of the pearl covered vintage hand bag. Really didn't want to have to hold on to it all night. Notice the cool updo? It was really easy, in case you're wondering. Pull your hair into a ponytail (I pulled my hair into a low pony), then separate the hair just above the rubber band and thread the whole ponytail. Just do that over and over again until there's just a little hair left and bobby pin what's left.

Anyway, as I was saying....everyone stared and the girls at the pharmacy started cracking up the second I walked in. They know me fairly well (I'm in there several times a month) so I let them off the hook. Once I got home, though, I stripped off the dress and changed into something more comfortable, yet a little more appealing to the husband's eyes than a grubby t-shirt.

Cute fitted, lower cut shirt, jeans, and flats. I even donned some pink pearls to go with it. After changing, it was time to make dinner like the good wife/mom I am. What housewife would be caught dead cooking without a precious apron.

Seriously, how cute is that baby! It's a vintage apron/pinny I found on Ebay sometime last year. I'm actually peeling potatoes in this pic. I know, I rock! lol

All in all, today was a little better than yesterday, especially since I realized I was going about it all the wrong way. Instead of focusing on the perfection we think of/romanticize about when we think of the 1950s housewife, I chose to focus on the importance of making my family happy, healthy, and comfortable.