I am not a Housewife.

Do you like my caption on the cartoon?

I've had some pretty interesting revelations lately. Thanks, in part, to the time I have spent at the playground eavesdropping on talking with and listening to the mothers who congregate there.

I am not a housewife.

I am a mother, it's true. I love staying at home with Annalise and getting to watch her grow up. (most days, today she was an absolute beast for nearly 4 hours). I've digressed...

I never signed up for this domestic crap. Yet, somehow, I have been sucked into it.

I'm not one of these women who cares how the laundry gets done or if the dishes are cleaned to my specifications. 

Things I DO care about:

1) Do not leave the blinds open and turn on lights when it gets dark outside. We live on the first floor and I don't like everyone and their idiot children staring through our windows.

2) Always close the toilet lid and shut the bathroom door. We have a toddler and a cat and I just don't want to deal with all the horrors that could happen in that particular situation.

3) Lock the doors...always. We live in Washington D.C. (or 3 miles from it). Just...lock them.

4) Put shoes in the shoe basket in the hallway. I don't want to trip over them...again.

I don't think that is an unreasonable or ridiculous list. 

Back to the eavesdropping conversing bit...turns out that most of the mothers feel like their lives would be easier if they were single mothers. At least then they wouldn't keep expecting someone to help them. I wouldn't say that I agree with them, but I definitely understand where they are coming from. (Pardon my sentence ending in a preposition).

Trendon doesn't expect me to be a domestic goddess. He knows who he married and that woman does not come equipped with a feather duster and a frying pan. 

Maybe someone can enlighten me as to the joys of domesticity? What is it that I am just not getting? What satisfaction is to be had from cleaning the kitchen, only to have it be wrecked at the next meal? What is pleasing about doing laundry when you know that you're going to have to wash the clothes you're wearing right then?

How do you say "life is wonderful" instead of yanking out handfulls of hair when you see the sippy cup lodged between the bookshelf and wall? (and OF COURSE it's the cup that once held 6oz of whole milk Ovaltine...and now...*gag* it's...something else).

I sure am looking forward to going back to school full-time and on campus. 

I'm on the verge of becoming a bitterly discontented woman.

On the upside, I met a very nice woman today with whom I hope to become friends. On top of seeing two of the military wives around here that I actually like and with whom I "click." 

Turns out the reason I didn't fit in with the other wives is that they are doing the middle school clique thing and I was just not understanding. I feel like such an idiot. Normally I'm very good at hearing what is said between the words, but this time...wow. I was like the bookworm trying to understand what the hell the cheerleaders were talking about. 

Thank the gods for my two "other" moms who welcomed me into their fold and explained the clique system to me.

Apparently, I'm an "other." Surprised? Me neither.

And now, I shall turn on Disc 2, Season 1 of Nurse Jackie (thank you, Amanda) and get some knitting done.

Were I not an "other" mother right down to the marrow of my bones, I'd be cleaning up this horrid computer desk (Tren has 6 coke cans on here...they were $2.75/12pk at Target) or maybe washing dishes...scrubbing a floor...writing an epic poem detailing my husband's masterful skill with the grill (we did have delightful brats for dinner).

Alas....I am truly, and forever, other.