Cinderelly, Cinderelly

I just had one of those moments when you look at your kitchen floor and think "Is this who I am?"

Maybe I am making assumptions addressing you directly, because either you always have a clean kitchen floor, or you don't care one way or the other, but this was ridiculous. As I was on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor (because this is the only way to get them really clean), I had a revelatory "June Cleaver" moment. I have felt myself ascending into the housewife role over the past few weeks what with all the holiday baking, and the sheer fairytale-ness of this particular task added something tasty to the mix. I would have been the one on my hands and knees cleaning the floor anyway, but the addition of the napping baby in the swing brought it home: I'm a housewife.

I have long been thinking how this idealized version of home life ever came about and what the reality must have been. I can't imagine that Dad returned from a hard day at the office to a home-cooked meal, a home-mixed cocktail, and a cigar while Mom smiled happily in pearls, heels, and perfectly pressed dress, belted at the waist. (I was going to say "while Mom smiled happily in pearls and heels," but I think that particular scenario happened even less often.) Were it true, I would think that the divorce rate would have been much higher, not to mention the spousal homicide-by-scotch poisoning rate, which I think was only tracked in the 1950's suburbs of New York City.

In the past few weeks, I have managed to keep us in meals by planning menus, writing up grocery lists, and getting things together during his swing naps, but I do this ever three days or so, and then we eat leftovers. It's not roast beef one night, a chicken the next, followed by a kicky ham with pineapple rings and maraschino cherries. It's lasagna on Tuesday, lasagna on Wednesday, and lasagna on Thursday, with lasagna thrown in for lunch here and there. Then it's shrimp corn chowder. The next few meals are all very chicken-y, starting with a chicken, that will then be boiled down to be sold for scrap to soup and chicken pot pie, leading to chicken enchiladas with a green sauce. We are just finishing up the beef stroganoff. I have also baked four batches of cookies in the last few weeks: roasted garlic chocolate chip, chocolate chip, pumpkin spice (with molasses), and pumpkin spice (no molasses). The cookie baking has resulted in a new flour sifter (which I really like) and new cookie sheets (which I hate to say I am in love with because they are objects, but I think I love them).

And now, our kitchen floor is relatively clean. I typed "my" kitchen floor first, and then I realized just how very housewifey that sounded, as in "Don't you go getting cookie crumbs all over my clean kitchen floor," so I switched it. Our house, our floor. It's not perfect, but as the cats have been barfing up Christmas Tree and Wheatgrass for a couple of weeks now, and the most popular place has been under the table (I even caught an "on the table" about to happen) and as Pete is having people over tonight to play Irish music, I thought perhaps a little scrub was in order.

No if you don't mind, I have knitting to do.