Helping at Home

Whenever married women get together there is inevitably a conversation about household chores. I've talked about Domestic Sexy in past posts and highlighted a few amazing days with due credit given. At some point one of the women in my clique will say something that is the equivalent to "it isn't worth the effort." I always state that after 14 years of marriage, the partnership should indeed, be a partnership. It might not be done like you would like it done, but get over it. I say this often. I'm going to stop.

See, we haven't had matching socks in months. It started one season when I went on strike and I didn't care what happened. I literally only searched for my clean clothes and I have plenty of hosiery options that I can rely on most days. One of the kids asked about socks early in the school year and I promptly directed them to their own drawer. They replied, "we don't have socks." I know there are socks and plenty of them. And then....I started the investigation.

For my entire strike the socks were conveniently placed in unmatched batches at the bottom of a variety of baskets, with no regard to size, owner or style. Within a few weeks the socks had no mates and the mess was expanding. On one particular morning, the sock hunt led to the photo above, where well meaning children were trying to identify the things that belonged to them. I have now made up in my mind, there is no equity in helping at home. Three months later and the socks have still never been the same. They went away for a few days in August and their grandmother simply purchased new socks. She will be saddened to know that they too have gone into the group wash, non sort, non match, non put away experience. This is so not domestic sexy. This is so why married women suggest that their spouse need not help at home.

I think its a plot of intentional proportions when a degreed male can not accomplish laundry success. I'm the one with about 10 dozen miss matched socks all over my house, too. This would be a non-issue, but its Winter. Funds are low. The work load is high. And the socks are all over because I was convinced that my hiatus would mandate more help. Not so much.

Domestic Sexy

It has been nearly 13 years, and I don't define sexy in the same way anymore. I was talking to someone recently about the decision to be happy and laughing at what time, age and maturity will bring to a relationship. I got mulched on Mother's Day, and I'm sure it would be a much less exciting achievement for a younger woman. Really, when I thought about what I wanted in celebration of being a mom - it wasn't much aside from the comfort of motherhood and our life. The kids had come up with a variety of flowers and such (mainly created from the loving hands of pre-school teachers I could just kiss, really); and my husband mulched me. That's pretty sexy.

I decided to write today, not because of the mulch, but another level of domestic bliss. Rodent kill. Yep, my husband has been dutifully working at decreasing the chipmunk population in my nature preserves in the back yard. I had given him plenty of feedback about how to address this increasingly annoying issue, including the store, the product and the method to eliminate any sign of these nasty creatures. And true to form - he did NOTHING I asked. He investigated his own method, found these cumbersome traps with directions in 10 languages, and decided not to drown the varmints but to take them miles away and free them. I am not kidding. He doesn't recycle, but he wants to spare the chipmunks a pond death (which was my suggestion) and just take them to a new home. By this morning we had seen 6 chipmunks, old and young, small and large, fast and seemingly faster. When I returned home from church (with a scoff at the wasted peanut butter and bird seed), my daughter delighted in telling me that 2 had been captured. (I now owe my husband $2 for his success.) Within a few hours number three were released in a nature preserve about 8 miles away. I could further comment on the ridiculous nature of his method, but what a domestically sexy move. I tell you, it comes in on my top 10 list now somewhere around cutting the lawn after church on Sunday, or turning back my side of the bed when I'm destined to reach there first. Domestic sexy.

I joined an alumni website for Purdue and had enough mixed emotions to cause stomach upset. I was getting ready to decide just how old I felt, when I was refreshed by the fact that some things indeed are just much better with time. I don't have enough wine experience to make a good analogy, but I do have plenty of experience in relationships. I think about those that are for a time, a reason and a season...but more importantly, those that are for a lifetime. I must be a complete pain to live with - yep, I admit it. I'm stubborn, often evil, fiercely protective, and a tad judgmental. Most importantly, though, I am loved for just being me. I give up art shows in this lifetime for mounds of yard work, and get untold joy from all garbage cans being emptied and taken out without my feedback or request. I enjoy Sex and the City as much as foreign affairs, politics and good literature. I am who I am, and I am completely smitten with domestic sexy.

I can't relate to men who don't do diapers, bath time or kidlet duty. I am scared by fathers who use the term baby sit in any reference to their own personal relationship with their children. I share real life stories with young women who ask me about marriage that are neither of the fairy tale brand or idealistic. The one thing that I can do well, however, is capture the essence of marital bliss for this real woman. Dishes are divine. Mopped floors are magical. Laundry completed is luxurious. And being mulched...magnificent. Don't get me wrong, an overdue date, dinner out or a poetry slam is pretty nice; and I'm looking forward to an overdue vacation. Somewhere really nice. Without the children. For today however, I'll just glow in domestic sexy and look at the pond as the chipmunks disappear one by one!

Pure joy.