You Know You're a Bad Housewife When......

The truth is, I never thought much about growing up and being married, having kids or "keeping a house."  First, I just wasn't that kind of gal. I was never the Barbie doll, toe-nail polish, start planning my wedding at the age of six type. Nope, I was more the get muddy, find a boy to beat up, make my five step plan for becoming an astronaut type.  Funny how things turn out, isn't it?  I ended up getting married to  man who sells Barbies for a living and having a daughter who wants desperately to paint her toe nails while she is planning her future wedding.  I love them both more than I can put into words, but I do sometimes feel as if I've fallen down the rabbit hole!  My point here is simply this, upon getting married and having my first daughter I immediately felt horribly unprepared to do what every other woman seemed to have such a firm handle on.  Even more simply put: I suck at being a housewife.  Don't bother trying to convince me otherwise because the facts back me up on this one.

1. I can't cook.
I mean really, really, can't cook.  And I don't just mean that I cook things and they taste bad, although that is certainly true as well.  I mean that when I try to cook, things catch on fire.  A lot.  Fact: for our first wedding anniversary J bought me a kitchen fire extinguisher.  Fact: I have used it. Twice.  The first time was during my only attempt to make a Thanksgiving dinner.  Somehow, the stuffing (Stovetop...who can mess that up, right?) burst into flames and to this day I have no idea how or why.  And that's the real problem.  Things start out okay in the kitchen, under control.  Then I blink or look out the window and get distracted wondering if being a rodent, which is already vile and disgusting, makes rats immune to viruses that might cause the Zombie Apocalypse and all of  sudden all hell breaks loose, there is egg on the ceiling and something is burning.  At least the fire extinguisher still works well. 

2. I am disorganized. 
Now, I know a lot of you are thinking, "Well, that's allright.  As long as you know where things are."  And you would be right! The only problem is, I don't know where things are!  I don't remember where I put anything away or even if I did put it away.  I am fighting a losing war on all fronts.  Entropy is winning in a very big way.  It's like carrying a bucket of water up a hill only to get to the top and realize it has been leaking the whole way and is almost empty. So you trudge back down the hill, refill it and head back up, forgetting once again that it has a hole in it.  To me, being able to keep things organized seems like some sort of voodoo magic.  I see a tidy and well organized household and think, "Wow, this person has sold their soul to the devil, only instead of riches and fame they got an electronic label gun and the know how to use it effectively." 

3. I can clean well but have no real interest in ever doing so.  Ever.
That's not to say I won't clean, but when your motivation level to do so is so low to begin with it's not like it ever gets done all that effectively.  In my household there is a lot of halfhearted sweeping at surfaces with a dustcloth and picking blankets up off the floor and tossing them onto the mattress, thereby "making the bed."  I have convinced myself that the simple act of sweeping the floor of one room actually makes the rest of your house look sparkly clean. Just last week I beat my own record by spinning the same load of laundry over and over in the dryer for two and half days because I didn't want it to get wrinkled but I certainly didn't want to fold it!

That's just the tip of a very large iceburg!  But, before I go any further, I want to let any young ladies who might be reading in on a secret I have just recently discovered:

                                             It's okay not to be a great housewife!

After years of stressing about it, chasing my own tail and feeling more than a little inadequate, I have finally realized that the world is not going to end if my refrigerator has a few things in it that are slightly past their expiration dates.  I love my family, care for and feed them (albeit often with burnt food!), keep our house danger proof and sometimes semi-clean and you know what?  They love me right back!  No one is dissapointed in me, and going a little easier on myself has allowed me to enjoy being with them more, as well as allowed for more time to ponder weighty issues like what I would say if NASA offered me the chance to be one of the first settlers on Mars.  No, right? I mean, I have kids so it would be wrong to just up and leave.  But what if they could almost guarantee my safety and I could just stay for a while? Then it would be okay....right??