God, I have been such a damn housewife today doing housewifey things which is exhausting. And no one ever notices any of it. Clean laundry just appears in drawers and closets as if by magic, same with always having toilet paper and Miracle Whip and coffee and milk. That bed straightens out its wrinkles miraculously every night before we get in it and our dishwasher loads and unloads itself. Toilets are self-cleaning, as are floors. Obviously.
But I must be honest here and tell you that my husband does indeed notice things and he does thank me. Okay, not the trash I take or the toilets I scrub and I'm pretty sure he does think that the groceries arrive from the store to whisk themselves onto the shelves and into the refrigerator by themselves.
But he thanks me every night for the meals I make, even the ones with tofu, and he often texts me to thank me for his lunch. He always calls it his "gourmet" lunch. This is our joke. And he helps clean up the kitchen a lot. And to tell you the truth, I am not a good housekeeper in the sense that things are always clean and dust free.
Well, they almost never are. I mean, kitchen counters are and I do sweep a lot but dusting is ridiculous and I haven't cleaned a baseboard since 2014, most likely. Windows? Oh please. Give me a break.
It rained this morning and so instead of taking a walk I finished up going through books in the library and tidying there and rearranging and organizing a bit. I have seven boxes of books to give away.
It only took me what? Two months to finish this up?
And I still have to get rid of the boxes. May said that she wanted some of the books and so I am going to wait for her to go through them before I start donating them somewhere. Maybe I'll just put one box at a time outside the fence with a sign that says, "Free books," and see what happens.
Could be interesting.
So. Library cleaning, Publix shopping, bread making, soybean cooking, laundry doing, and then ironing. I guess I'm allowed to be tired.
It's supposed to get down into the forties here in the next few days. I can't even believe that. Is King Richard going to be born on a cold night? Well, cold for us. Or a warm day?
I had every one of my babies in the day time but had labored all night before they were born. Hank was born about ten-thirty in the morning, May at dawn, Lily at five o'clock in the afternoon, and Jessie about six in the evening, I think.
I just know that everyone got to go home for dinner and bed and that made me very happy.
And come to think of it, all of Lily's children were born in the daytime except for Maggie and she was born before suppertime. And August was born in the morning.
Jessie had a few regular contractions last night that kept her awake for awhile but then they went away. Her body is tuning up, letting her know that the time will be soon. I think that she is far more ready than I am.
Who are we going to get this time? Will he be like August? Gibson is certainly not much like Owen and Maggie is like neither of them. None of my children were very much like each other. And each of them was born with their exact personalities already intact. People who say that babies don't acquire a personality until they learn to talk are simply not paying attention. And when the argument comes down to nature versus nurture, let me point out that they ARE born with their very own unique nature firmly in place and while I know without a doubt that nurture has a lot to do with how a child turns out, it's still the child's nature which takes that nurturing (or lack thereof) and turns it into who they become.
At least that's what I believe. And none of this is any excuse not to do our very, very best raising our kids because we want them to be the very, very best version of themselves they can possibly be, right?
And then, we love them to eternity and back for the person that they are and appreciate each of them for their differences, their strengths, their unique characteristics, and yes, their weaknesses.
Not like we don't have any.
In short, we do our best and I tell you what- that is not an easy thing to do. Not easy at all.
In fact, it's probably the hardest job there is, raising sane children in an insane world.
Or at least, children as sane or saner than we are.
That's pretty much been my goal. That and making sure they know they are loved.
And that may be the most important thing.
Okay. I have to go start the brown rice. I'm being all hippie and shit tonight which is probably a rebellion for being all housewifey and shit.
Praise the Lord and pass the organic wheat germ!
(Just kidding. That shit'll kill you with all the gluten in it.)