Diary Of A Mother Bird

For years, I've said I longed to be a 1950s housewife.  I adore the dresses and the baking pies and breads and the idea of hanging my clothes on a clothesline to dry.  After the six episodes of Bones I watched today that were recorded on my DVR, and after my yelling at my 5 year old son for not leaving me alone long enough to rest, and after playing the "what does it say" game with my two year old, I realized something.  I'm so lazy.  That's why I don't live the life of a 1950s housewife- not because it's unattainable.

"What does a kitty cat say?"

"Meow!"

"What does a puppy dog say?"

"Ruff ruff!"

What does....mommy say?"

"I'm tired!"

Ouch.

What is it that I think I'm so tired from?  This is sincerely ridiculous, but I'm going to admit that it still didn't really get to me.  It wasn't until I begrudgingly began to unload the dishwasher and realized that the dishes weren't properly cleaned that I had a bit of a epiphany.  I spent well over an hour on my computer googling why my dishwasher wasn't cleaning correctly.  I poured over link after link, product after product, before I finally came to this realization: In the time I spent trying to figure out how to fix it or what to buy that would fix it, I could have washed, rinsed, dried, and put away all the dishes that were dirty and had time to spare.  I spend more energy and money trying to find ways to be lazy.  It's sad really.

So I prayed a lot and cried a little.  And then I, for the first time I can genuinely recall, washed a kitchen full of dishes.  By hand.  And then I made a delicious dinner.  And then, as a family, we washed those dishes.  The wonder of drying cups and plates was almost too much for my 5 year old to handle.

I might not be a 1950s housewife just yet, but I'm closer than I was when I got out of bed this morning.