Queen in Charge

I re-read yesterday’s post and realized I’m right back where I started.

Suburban housewife. Little bit more at times but mostly? That’s my job. It’s not pretty and no one wants to write “housewife” on tax forms. I like to put “queen in charge.“ It has to be pretty boring at the IRS. Why not spread some humor.

A meeting I was scheduled to attend was canceled today. I had the joy of stretching out on the couch and wrapping up in a blanket.

I took the business suit off first, of course. Saved a trip to the drycleaner. This is how you think when you're a housewife.

I looked out the window and noticed the tiny drops of rain on the end of a Japanese maple. Each branch had a drop on the tip- perfectly balanced.

Sounds perfect?

Then I remembered the dirty baseball uniforms and two friends joining my boys tonight for sleepovers. I had no food in the house and while I can order pizza for dinner, I know I am going to have all those charming little faces looking at me tomorrow morning, begging for Sara’s fried egg sandwiches.

I rolled over and pulled the blanket up.

Sounds idyllic unless you add the twenty pounds I’ve gained since I stopped going to work outside of the house. Even with ‘nothing to eat’ there is always something to eat. Clearly, when the words run dry, refrigerator viewing helps stir creativity.

Or the fact that just beyond the beautiful Japanese maple branches is a classic white trash backyard. Broken toys, a few shirts, some empty juice boxes, and stacks of wood for the tree house Jeanine has promised the boys since we moved in- I’m thinking the grandchildren might see one. Maybe.

My office is like a bomb went off- I have pictures on the floor, piles of paper on the broken fax machine I haven’t replaced yet. Like unused exercise equipment, it seems to be a holder of things. Boxes of photographs, a pile of unopened mail, unread magazines are scattered throughout the room.

Pull the covers up a little higher.

Part of being a housewife is the house. Taking care of it. Cleaning it. Keeping up with repairs. I finally got a leaking valve fixed the other day when I thought Walter was going to blow his own gasket over my inefficiency. The poor guy works like a dog and I’m here… uh… napping and can’t seem to call the plumber.

I was more efficient when I was working outside the house- I think. I still had a trash-strewn backyard. The wood was still waiting for Jeanine. I didn’t even have an office, only the moving boxes of files in a closet and a small table and chair. The house was clean but I was like a maniac running through it when I got home, swearing at everyone for being a pig and stuffing things in random places. Okay, I was more efficient at running someone else’s business. I still sucked at running my own.

But I was gauged by my success in running that business, by the paycheck and kudos from my boss. Now it’s up to me to set my measures of being good enough.

Write in blog. Check.

Everything else… oh… soon. I’ll get to it soon.

Truth is, I always get the bills paid on time. My desk is clean on occasion. The uniforms will all be clean by the morning, along with the rest of the laundry. There is a huge pile of fruit salad on the table for the five boys running around right now. I got out from under the warm covers and bought the eggs, bread and cheese for the sandwiches in the morning.

I couldn’t, yet again, run to the store first thing in the morning in a sweatshirt, some running shorts and a – gasp- pony tail. It sends Ben into a long lecture about fashion, how old I look and the inevitable question,

Are you trying to ruin my life?

Nope. Just trying to figure out mine. I never thought I was going to be a suburban housewife.

But then, I always knew I’d be queen in charge.