I spend a lot of time sitting around waiting for the other adults to come home. So in this way I liken myself to the animal cast of The Secret Life of Pets where Max the terrier jumps around so happy when his owner comes home. I’m literally counting the minutes down until hubby gets home. Unless we’re fighting in which case he sometimes walks in to be met by Frosty the Snow Woman. And now I’ve got reason to be doubly excited with Markus the Au Pair. Another adult in the house Yeah. Apart from being easy on the eye he’s good company. Did I mention he was easy on the eye? Haha.
Can you tell I crave adult human company?
If I could sit here and read write all day I’d be good. But there’s shit to clean. I’m a housewife, right? It’s so easy to find myself overwhelmed by the never ending housework. Large house. Lots of kids.
BTW I hate housework. I can be good at it but I’ll never be houseproud. Because two¬†fucks I give not. It’s just the way I am. And you can’t read while you do housework. At least not very well.
Many people I know love keeping their house clean. I say people, not women, as guys can be as houseproud as woman. Not my husband. He is completely content with the level of disarray I find acceptable. Just one of the things I find so endearing about him. Neither of us mind walking on our clothes on the way to bed. In fact when we were flatting with ten other flatmates in a Warehouse flat in the 90s/ 2000’s they’d walk on my clothes on the way to sit on the bed and shoot the breeze. ¬†Hence the tendency to barge into rooms.
But I’m grown up now. Though thinking about it, those were fun times. I might just go back to that. Only accept visitors sitting up on my bed and¬†a cigarette holder¬†with a newspaper ¬†I’ll probably end up sleeping under that night. I was never short of reading material I could just push to Derek’s side of the bed when it got too much.
Be fun right?
No. Not with kids to ruin the party. And it’s not like people can just pop in through the door. By the time they’ve wandered down to the Master bedroom they’ve got bored, had a coffee and been surrounded by natives and left early. Probably all for the best. It wouldn’t be very American. The American way is to throw glitzy dinner parties and stand around chewing over minutiae, slagging off whoever is absent ¬†(the woman) or talking about sports (men) . Everybody behaves properly and there is no fancying, just side eyeing who’s best dressed or too skinny, ¬†(the woman) or who has the latest toy ( men).
I love it. They’re not really dinner parties such as gatherings of pockets of the community who might only bump into each other in passing. Same as any where else we’re pleased to see the kids are all okay, things are going well, the house looks good and to engage in a session of mutual back patting at how awesome we are at holding dinner parties. Okay that’s American.
Then everyone rolls off home; finishes off the best part of a bottle of wine or tub of ice-cream, with or without the spouse, goes to bed well satisfied and wakes up early next morning to wrestle with the housework, go to the gym or finish the PTA minutes.
Life’s good. Busy but good. I’ve gamed the washing process. I’ve found it’s easier to fold the washing as it comes out of the dryer rather than put it all in one basket to sort out later. Later never comes, it just leaves you screaming like a constipated donkey while you shake the unmatched socks out of a tangled up sheet while you hunt for the last pair of girl undies. “Where are the undies!” Plenty of boy undies with four boys.
Technically they’re panties here in California. Boys wear undies. And with one girl, sometimes she just has to suck it back and wear the tighty whities.
Check out this video of Barack Obama singing Shape of You by Ed Sheeran.