I showed my husband when he got home from work.
"Geez, the lengths you'll go to, to avoid housework."
Just because I can shrink just about any piece of clothing I wash, burn up the carpet with the vacuum and clog up the sink when I wash dishes doesn't mean I am trying to get out of chores. It just means I am homemaking challenged.
And this is not what you want to be when you are a stay-at-home mom.
How hard can it be?
Like most women my age, I grew up during a period where our mothers had us avoid homemaking classes and clubs that prized those skills because they were unworthy of us. We were young women that had inherited the fruits of feminism. We no longer needed to bother ourselves with learning such things like how to care for our families and ourselves. Those were interests better suited for sissies and unenlightened young women.
At least, that was the impression I got so long ago. These skills were so easy that anybody could pick them up simply by breathing if they weren't already born with the knowledge.
Fast forward thirty years later. I wasn't born with the knowledge, yet my vocation is marriage and the sub-vocation is motherhood. My husband won't let me iron his clothes because I might make a boo-boo. I've been practicing for twelve years now and I'm still dying everyone's underwear pink. And I've discovered that learning homemaking skills by breathing is just a made up story because inhaling bleach in a small poorly ventilated room -- such as a BATHROOM -- makes me woozy.
You see, staying at home and raising a family is like running your own business. There's more to it than meets the eye. We were wrong to ever think this vocation was unworthy. We were wrong to fail to prepare for it. But no one ever saw it that way until recently as moms translate the skills they learn at home to run successful home-based businesses.
I hope to follow in their footsteps. Someday this house will be orderly and organized and I won't set off all the smoke detectors when I cook. Maybe I'll even figure out what to so with the sewing machine I have in the back of the coat closet buried under assorted broken umbrellas.
But for now I'll work on the laundry. Small steps.
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