the all-american housewife

I've been thinking with fondness lately of the All-American Housewife. The June Cleavers, Marion Cunninghams and Ethel Mertzes of the world, dolled-up in delightful dresses and perfectly polished pumps as they served their husbands three squares a day and washed all the dishes by hand.

I wouldn't trade my life today for the lives that they lived then (I'd be more of a Lucy Ricardo if I did), but I'm beginning to admire them more - for taking a moment each day to dress up, for wanting to take care of their homes. I admire them for waiting patiently at home, for keeping a dinner plate warm. For growing geraniums and mopping their floors, for ironing everything they wore. For wearing white gloves and polishing silver, for making elaborate jell-o molds. For putting their families before everything else, and spreading their beauty around.

I'm grateful that now all this is a choice - pants or a skirt, stockings or not - that ironing and jell-o are an option. But I do find joy in baking bread and making jam and greeting my husband at the door. And at these moments I think the housewives knew best. A happy home is a happy life and I should do whatever it takes to make it so.

Maybe I'll start wearing dresses more often...

queen of the house

I am not a cat lover. Or a dog lover. In fact, I really don't enjoy any animal small enough to put its genitals on me. This may sound absurd, but I grew up with horses - fifteen hand, thousand pound horses. They didn't come in the house, I changed clothes to ride them, and there was absolutely no way they could pee on me. Cats, on the other hand, can and did pee on my sleeping bag, and claw and bite without provocation; the only dog I remember once ate all my crayons then puked them up in my toy box.

This is why I was "allergic" to cats until a few years ago when the kids found a kitty hiding in our back yard. After Max named her and told the neighbors she was ours, I consented to let her live in the shed where she would keep the mice and birds away. That lasted a few days until other cats began eating her food. We then moved her to the garage where she had food and water and a nice place to sleep. A few weeks later we installed a cat door so she could go in and out as she pleased.

Come Fall, the cat sat outside the window while I taught piano, meowing regularly and clawing the screen. Inevitably my students stated the obvious, "I think your cat wants to come inside." "Yes," I replied, "but she isn't allowed in the house." "Why?" they asked. "Because. I'm mean." "Oh," they said. But, as it turns out, I am not as mean as I seem. The first truly cold day ended the "outdoor" cat arrangement and cleared the path for Gigi Harriette Quincompoix, Queen of the House.

It wasn't an easy transition. It took weeks to accept that the cat loved me best. (Why?!) But gradually she won me over. I eventually became desensitized to finding cat hair in my house (Yuck!) and at some point allowed her to sit on my lap. Now I cannot imagine our home without her. She has taught Abi to empathize, sympathize and love unconditionally and has served as a younger sibling to Max. To me she has shown unwavering devotion and Dave she allows to believe he's the boss.

So I find her today with a swollen right jaw and my heart is filled with fear. Ridiculous, I think. So stupid! She is just a cat. But this cat is a part of our lives and to lose her will break all our hearts.

I really hope she's okay...

indestructible bread

After searching for a really great bread recipe meeting all our family requirements (quick and easy to make in a mixer, at least some whole wheat, no powdered milk or wheat gluten blah, blah, blah, moist enough to not crumble, and tasty enough to please the kids) I finally found a recipe for "Fabulous Homemade Bread" on allrecipes.com.

The first time I made it, I scaled it down from 6 loaves to 2, so the recipe turned out with ingredient amounts like "3 tablespoons and 1-3/4 tsp. brown sugar." I rounded to the nearest tablespoon. The dough still looked good, so I let it rise. Perfect! I punched it, rolled it and put it in pans. I covered the pans and went out to lunch with my friend, forgetting to throw it in the fridge to slow the 2nd rising. Two hours later I returned to flat loaves. I baked it anyway and it was great!

The second time I made it, I activated my yeast around noon and then unexpectedly had to leave the house. I stuck the rising yeast in the fridge and remembered it around 7pm. I threw in the other ingredients to see if it would work. It did and it was great!

The third time I made it, I started the yeast and left it to sit for 5 minutes as instructed. Two hours later I remembered the yeast. It was big, but still bubbly. I mixed it anyway, adding two or maybe three times as much flour. It was a little less flavorful, but still great!

So, if you if you're interested in an indestructible bread recipe, here it is:

Fabulous Homemade Bread (2 loaves)

1. Stir the following ingredients in a mixer bowl and let rise 5 minutes: 3 Tbsp. warm water, 2-1/4 (or one package) active dry yeast, 1-1/2 Tbsp. whole wheat flour, 1 tsp. sugar.

2. Add the following and start mixer on low: 2/3 cup oats, 2/3 cup whole wheat flour, 1-1/2 cup warm water and 1-1/2 tsp salt.

3. Add the following and gradually increase mixer speed to speed 2, mixing until the dough clings to the dough hook and cleans the bowl: 4 Tbsp brown sugar, 2 Tbsp honey, 4 Tbsp vegetable oil, 3 cups flour (or more, as needed, to get dough to clean the bowl).

4. Transfer bread to a greased bowl, let rise for about 1 hour or until double in size.

5. Punch dough down, roll into a log and cut in half. Tuck ends under and set loaves into 2 greased bread pans. Let rise again until double in size.

6. Bake for 25 minutes at 350 degrees.

a good lesson

I spent several hours today digging up raspberry plants I allowed to spread too wide. I knew a couple years ago I was supposed to keep them in check, but I so hate to dig up a growing thing, that I let them all go.

So now my arms are scratched from elbow to wrist. My fingers are tender from thorns. My back is aching and my shoulders are sore, but the raspberries seem so happy now; they have so much more room to grow.

Overall... a good lesson on repentance.

i am sleeping

I tuck in my children, too late as usual, fall asleep on the couch, watching t.v. with Dave. I wake up and drag myself up the stairs, then fall asleep reading, propped up in my bed. I wake up and put down my book and my glasses, turn off the lamp and close my door.

The cat starts meowing (I hate her, I'll kill her) but after 5 minutes, she goes away - bored. I fall back asleep for a couple of hours, then a myriad of noises wake me once more. It's 2:45 but Dave's not in bed yet. I go to down to see if he's asleep in his chair.

He isn't, he's working, I go back to bed. Irrational worries pile up like laundry. What if the roof leaks, or the wind blows that tree down, what if it lands on the house or the shed? I sing soothing songs to myself, in my head.

I'm sleeping again, but then someone's snoring. I grope for my ear plugs (they're gone, I can't find them), knock down the clock and it clangs on the floor. I pick up the clock, make sure it's still ticking, look at the time, it's 5:04. A few minutes later, the cat is meowing and I hear the birds chirping, so I go let her out.

I fall asleep (easy), then a cell phone is ringing. A few seconds later, I shove on Dave's back. Ten minutes later, the cell phone is beeping. He gets up again, how can he live without sleep?

Soon footsteps are pounding up the stairs, in the bathroom. The door squeaks...and slams shut.

The shower is running, it's calming (I love it!), I'm asleep once again till the water goes off. Drying her hair now, searching for hair clips. She remembers we're sleeping and closes our door.

I can still hear her, I should just get up now. But I'm tired, I am sleeping, just a few minutes more...

this egg stinks

We dye eggs every year. Some of us put in more effort than others, us being Abi and Max and I, others being Dave, but there is always an egg or two that is the "cool" egg. The great idea. The star.

This year I came up with the idea to make our egg-selves, which I thought was pretty darn cool. But then I noticed one of Dave's eggs was missing. I asked him where it was and he said he didn't know. Being a bit OCD-esque, I checked every cup until I found it.

As I lifted the turquoise egg from its long-lived bath, I read the words Dave had quickly etched in wax, "He who finds this egg stinks."

Cool. The great idea. The star. Without even trying...

a poem inspired by the "free milk" man

In this day and age
isn't it strange
to offer free milk
from a van
with a man
standing on the street corner?