Monday, August 6, 2012

An ode to the 1950s housewife

I do not know how wives of generations past did it. There used to be an expectation, and most wives (including my mother and grandmother) delivered. A hot meal was ready for their husbands as they walked in the door. Most nights my husband, who works very hard and very long hours, walks in around dinnertime to mad chaos. The children are running amuck with BBQ sauce all over their faces and hands. Dinner is not ready, and this is often not for lack of effort. (Sometimes it is -- sometimes I really don't try because why bother?) But many days, I do. Like tonight. I attempted a freshly grilled meal of pork and asparagus, which necessitated me going outside to the back patio periodically to turn the meat and vegetables. While preparing this meal, one or both of my children did the following:

Rip up a library book
Empty my pantry
Hit each other
Pull each other's hair
Chase each other with forks

Needless to say, dinner was not ready when my husband arrived home. I am thankful that I live in 2012 and am married to a man who plays with the kids while I finish dinner and always compliments my cooking once it is finally done. And quite often, on the weekends, he cooks. It is like a mini-vacation.

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