Of Home and Housework

I'm rather amazed at everything I can accomplish in one day, and still have some energy left by the time my son goes to bed.  Besides general cleaning and dinner preparation, I can go to the grocery store, walk to the post office, make bread or cookies, and do a load of laundry.  (I realize some of you may be thinking, "Well sure, she's only got one!"  Rest assured, for every ounce of cuteness in my son, there is a pound of "Hold Me!"  Most of my day is spent one-armed singing Yankee Doodle and various nursery rhymes.)

Granted, I am squeezing a lot of work into the glorious 40 minute nap, and I do a lot of kitchen clean-up after dinner, when my husband can baby-wrangle for me; but still, the possibilities are endless.  I can do my dishes!  I can scrub and vacuum the floors weekly!  I can read a book! I can clean the windows! I can shine my silver! I can make dessert!

Look out home, I'm apron-clad, wielding a spatula and broom!

After I retrieve them from my son.

I don't feel so bad for wearing sweats.

There's a reason I don't watch the Emmy Awards.  Or the Acadamy Awards. Or any other awards.  I find the hubbub slightly ridiculous.  I like good acting as much as the next guy; I have a Netflix account.  But when it comes down the glitz and glamor, it has no place in my life.  Those women were professionally dressed and styled- and gorgeous.  They are, after all, the Ideal American Woman. So I found it rather appalling when I overheard (I do mean overheard.  My son can turn the TV on by biting the remote) the criticism concerning their dresses, makeup, and hair.  The following comments from the Today Show seemed more appropriate directed at me on any given day, not them.  So I laughed.  I don't feel so bad for wearing sweats and t-shirts anymore.  Have a laugh with me.

"Her hair was just kind of down and blah."

"Her hair looked not as polished as it could- or the makeup either."

"She needs a product for frizzies.  There was some serious static- electrostatic something or other going on in that head.  Not a fan of it."

"She was so busy getting her dress on, she didn't have time for her hair!"

"This is a really great testament to why some dresses work in magazines, but not in person."

My Sunday morning glitz and glamor

My new addiction

Embroidery! What a wonderful thing I have found.  It started a desire to make Hubby's stoles while we're out on vicarage. The problem was, I hadn't ever tried to embroider anything.  So I figured someone out there would have put out some videos to show me the basics, or I could find someone in the congregation to teach me. Last week, I found a great website with over 50 videos of stitches, and I tried the simpler ones, then moved on to the more complicated and complex.  Now, I can't stop.  I'm dreaming up the elaborate designs I could make, deciding which stitches I can use to best fill in designs, and trying to master perhaps one of the most complex stitches out there, the plaited braid stitch. I'm close. Very close. I'll give it one more try tonight before bed. 

Won't that make a lovely border on a stole?

Check our Mary Corbet's embroidery blog here.

Set it, and forget it!

The Witherspoon Institute has an interesting article reflecting on the Pill's 50th anniversary, and the consequences of the newer forms of contraception.  R.J. Snell argues that IUD's and hormonal implants will further separate fertility from sexuality by allowing society to more completely "forget" that fertilization is the natural purpose of our sexuality.

As an experienced pill user, I can honestly say that the pill didn't help me forget that children are the natural result of my relationship with my husband.  Rather, it helped me remember that children were the unwanted natural result of our relationship.  I worked hard to remember that little pill, and if I forgot, we worked hard to remember Plan B.

With the newer forms of birth control, I wouldn't have had to remember to take that darned pill every day.  As Ron Popeil would say, I could "Set it, and Forget it!"  Not only could I forget about remembering to take my pill, I could forget that I was trying to prevent children from intruding on my marriage, and my marriage bed.  I would never have to think about how I denying myself one of God's greatest blessings.

At least with the pill, I had a daily reminder that I was actively trying to prevent children.  At least with the pill, I had to question each month if I should refill my prescription. At least with the pill, I could opt out of contraception without having to make an appointment with my gynecologist.  At least with the pill, there was a chance I would consider the consequences of my decisions.

Get the full article from the Witherspoon Institute here.

Advice from Miss Reed

"Let me give you this advice. It is the first and last I shall offer you. If you divide each day into sections and perform some useful task to timetable, the day will be over before you know it. You will be dependent on your own senses and not have to be flattered and admired in order to know that you exist." 

I knew I had read Jane Eyre multiple times for a reason.  And here it is, the useful tasks I aim to perform each day.

Monday: Load of laundry, scrub bathrooms (including floors)
Tuesday:  Load of laundry, scrub kitchen floor
Wednesday: Load of laundry, dust and vacuum living and dining room
Thursday: Load of laundry, dust and vacuum bedrooms
Friday:  Load of laundry, sew
Saturday: Read, Relax, Rest
Sunday: Church, make something fantastic for Sunday dinner
Everyday: Wash dishes, declutter rooms of toys, shoes, books, and mail, make lunch and dinner

Children as Idols

Issues, Etc.'s roundtable discussion on the challenges and joys of motherhood made me wonder how I would respond to the same questions.   Are children idols? From my classroom experience, yes, quite often.  Parents run their lives according to their children's sports teams and spelling tests.  It's no wonder we often choose to limit our families to one, two, or three children.  They seem more like personal assistants, neatly scheduling their children's lives, being careful not to double-book practices with family dinners or neighborhood playdates; gathering needed items for these neatly scheduled appointments; and personally accompanying them to every activity, checking with the adults "in charge" to be sure that they didn't forget anything their child might need.

What happened to responsibility?  When did we decide that children were too young to think and make decisions for themselves?  Our schools bend over backwards to deliver homework lists to the parents, rather than having the students write the homework in the assignment notebook.  (Surely you remember those- handy little inventions of spiral-bound calendars, plenty of blank space for filling in assignments, due dates, and lunch money reminders.)  We forgive late grades on assignments parents forgot to do.  We put the "OK" on the assignments done in (rather obviously) adult handwriting.  We call home when the child forgets the permission slip for the field trip, or the much-needed lunch money.  Why? Becaue parents always come to the rescue.  And if we don't give them that opportunity, we are to blame.

I just have a hard time picturing June Cleaver or Clair Huckstable running forgotten lunches and backpacks to the school to save their children from grumbling tummies or late grades.

And so it goes . . .

This is my attempt at a testimony of my life as a housewife.  May we all be that excellent wife who sees well to the ways of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness.