Baaad Toxic Housewife

A few years ago, we stopped using the dishwasher.  A model that is probably close to 20 years old, the ineffective piece of crap is noisy, loooong, and still requires us to pretty much wash the dishes before we put them in the dishwasher. 


I was so proud of myself when I first started hand-washing: look at me, close to my housewife roots!  Look at me, saving water and electricity; so environmentally friendly!  Look at me: even if I do nothing else all day, I have Done The Dishes!

Yeah, well, the glory has faded.  I do dishes three to four times a day, and there are almost always more dishes before the first batch has finished drying.  Even if there aren't more, the first batch piled in the drying rack makes the kitchen look cluttered (and I am not about to hand dry them, thank you very much).  [Oh, and I tried hiding them in the useless dishwasher to air-dry, but that only created a lovely pool of stagnant water in the bottom of the stupid washer.]

There have seriously been several occasions when I have been up to my elbows in suds and am fighting tears. 

To add insult to injury, I read an article which I hope is LYING that suggested most dishwashers use 2-3 gallons of water a cycle.  I use way more than that hand-washing those damn dishes.

Bee has started complaining about the state of the house.  But, after doing dishes for the third time that day, I'm too worn-out to do anything else.  Bee's not exactly suggesting that it's my fault the house is dirty . . . which is a brilliant move, as he knows I know where he sleeps.  But I suspect we both have the thought that, since he's out working in the shop more than am I, I ought to be working in the house.

I don't know why it's so hard for me not to be a good housewife.  I know the ones that my favorite blogger, JenButNeverJenn, tried to emulate had a lot more to do than me and had fewer technological advances to help them out.  I like to think it was all easier for them because they didn't have their dirty husbands tromping in from the shop several times a day, bringing sawdust, papers and general chaos along with them. 

I like to think that, but I think I'm just making excuses.

Bee called a maid service a few weeks ago to come clean the house.  I still can't decide if it was meant to be a help or a threat.  I didn't say anything about it, which is perhaps why he changed his mind at the last minute and canceled the maids.  And, OK, it sort of hurts my pride that Bee felt we needed professional assistance, but part of me wanted them to come just so I could prove to Bee that those ladies can mop and dust all they want: Bee's clutter will still make the place look trashed.

I know a Good 1950's Housewife would frown at my whining and tell me to grab a broom and get over it.  "Hell," she'd say (or maybe not), "you don't even have to make dinner every night; what are you complaining about?"

my attempt at Borscht (which actually didn't taste too bad)

Not only am I not attending to my husband's Feng Shui house, I am not being an emotionally-supportive spouse.  JenButNeverJenn learned that a Good Housewife must listen to her husband's problems but never interject her own opinions.  I know Bee wants my opinion, but he also just wants support.  And he needs a lot of support lately, since he's been having political issues at the Market.

I've been trying to be supportive; really, I have!  I've been dropping what I'm doing when he comes home from meetings so he can vent.  I've been helping him compose correspondence on sticky subjects.  I've been coming to the Market early so he can leave the booth to talk to people.  I was being a Good Housewife . . .

. . . until yesterday, when -- in the midst of trying to write an e-mail for him -- I suddenly started screeching, "I can't do this!  I can't take it anymore!  I don't know how to help you and I'm using all this time to help you instead of doing other things and it's getting us NOWHERE!!!!"

So.  A little bit of a set-back.

But yesterday, after working in the shop for a few hours, I did dishes for the second time that day, folded all the laundry from the clothesline, and took 20 minutes to clean Mr. C's room before starting dinner (the Borscht pictured above).   And, although I was cranky the whole time (Bad Housewife!), I -- shockingly -- felt much better once I saw how purty Mr. C's room finally looked.  And Bee was so happy to see it, too (Good Housewife!).

So, who knows: maybe it's not too late for me to try to get back on top.  Again.