Drunk Cleaning

It's Friday!!!  Welcome to ‘The Chronicles of a Reluctant Housewife’ where I document my love/hate relationship with my current occupation.

It’s 11am on Good Friday and we have already had our first Rocker (Pocker, Chocker….) from the Kingdom Hall.  It was perfect timing for to test my approach yet again.  I had just stepped out of the shower.  I was ready to answer the door in my robe and wet hair ensemble, but Pete closed the bathroom door (it has a direct view of the front door) and went to face the unknown. 

10 minutes later, my hair was dry and I was about to start applying make-up when Pete finally reappeared at the bathroom door.  He got sucked in.  Apparently passers-by were giving him sympathetic head shakes.  You know they immediately scurried home and closed the blinds.  We were the early warning system for them. 

Last night we went out for some drinks with Pete’s old workmates.  It was nice to see the guys (and girl) and to catch up.  I enjoy playing the proud housewife when we meet up with these guys.  It makes Pete look even better if his wife is able to stay at home and we can still go on a two week cruise to the Caribbean.  I should say that the performance is really only for the managers that give Pete grief for leaving and made his leaving more difficult than it had to be. 

But here’s the real housewife story.  When we got home, I sent Pete to the toilet to pre-emptively puke and while I was waiting for him to finish, I decided it would be a good time to put away the clean dishes in the drain and straighten up the kitchen a bit before I started heating up leftovers and homemade scones for Pete’s belly.  Either I am a great mulit-tasker, or I have truly tapped in to my inner homemaker.  Who thinks that 1am on a Thursday is a great time to start cleaning? Especially when you’re already a little tipsy and your husband is puking in the next room?

Turns out I didn’t actually do that great of a job.  The dishes got put away in basically the right places, but I managed to cover every horizontal surface in the kitchen with unidentified crumbs.  Drunk cleaning.  It’s the new housewife craze. 

Not much of a shocker for you really, but it’s the best I have for today.  It’s the start of a four-day weekend and it is going to be sunny and 78 all four days.  Weather like this, on a Bank Holiday no less, is unheard of in London (and probably the UK in general).  We live in the most beautiful and green part of London and our back deck is calling.  You’ll forgive me if I don’t get back to you for a few days. 

The Other One

In honour of her birthday this week, I have shared some memories of Mama Ria on The Other One today.
Head on over there and learn a little bit more about the family. 

Mum-please forgive me. 

You have been warned

We have two bank holidays coming up.  This means long weekends and sleeping in, but it also means unwelcome visitors. 

We have a group of people here called Chuggers.  These are charity volunteers that stand on the sidewalks and mug you as you go about your business with pitiful pictures of animals or children or what-have-you in an attempt to get your bank details to take £20 from your bank account every month.  These are easy enough to avoid.  You learn to avert your eyes like with the homeless guy with the mangy dog in the tube stairway  (I know, I’m horrible) or in Pete’s case, take out your phone and pretend to be having a conversation. 

However, when a bank holiday comes around, they move from the sidewalks to your front door.  They know you will be home and having a well-deserved lie-in and they come a-knockin’.  The animal hospital and Red Cross I can usually get rid of by pulling my housewife act, “ I can’t make any decisions without talking to my husband.”

However, being that this first bank holiday is associated with Easter, we will also be visited by the religious knockers.  These are a bit harder to dissuade.  I have no problem with religion or sharing your faith with like-minded people.  I do have a problem with you waking me up or making me burn my dinner because you won’t GO AWAY!!!  On our street we usually get the sweet old couple from the local Kingdom Hall.  How do you close the door on a sweet little old couple? Once, I was really ill and they came to the door and they wouldn’t leave.  They asked my name, they offered to get soup for me, they offered a prayer for better health.  All this while I was standing in my PJs and duvet when its 20 degrees outside.  What would help me is if you let me close the door!!!  This particular couple came back two days later to check in on me!!!  That’s dedication!  Scared the crap out of Pete when the same couple came asking for me by name and checking on my health.  He must have thought I was sicker than previously thought if I had succumbed to a Chocker (church knocker?).  But they just started in on him. 

However, by a freak miracle of chance, I have discovered how to expedite the experience.   I pass this secret on to you. 

One morning, when I had a rare reason to be up and showered and heading out the door at a particular hour, the Latter-Day Saints came a-knockin’.  I was not in the mood, so I threw on my robe (which is a bit short) and stomped from the bathroom to the front door, hair still wet and dripping because I didn’t get a chance to towel dry it before the assault.  I wrenched open the door (not due to anger, but because our front door sticks and you really have to give it a good yank) and had to grab at my robe as the effort loosened the hastily tied knot.  The men standing on the other side were visibly taken aback and hurriedly introduced themselves and handed over a pamphlet before practically running to the next house.  RESULT!!!!

I thought this might be an exception, so I have tried it out on other Rockers (religion knockers?) (obviously, I have too much time on my hands).  Sometimes I have to stage it a bit by hiking up the PJ pant legs so that it appears I am indecent and the hair sometimes gets a tussle, but is rarely wet anymore.  Works like a charm!!  Sometimes it backfires when I have to sign for a heavy package and then wrestle said package into the tiny front hall and the robe isn’t secure and I am actually indecent.  And sometimes the animal hospital and Red Cross aren’t as prudish, but overall, foolproof!!

If all else fails, or I don’t have time to stage the wardrobe, we have also taken to hiding in the bedroom until we hear them knock on the neighbours’ doors.  Childish, but it’s kind of fun to play hide n’ seek.  We perhaps take it a bit too far—sitting absolutely still and giggling and whispering, but you have to find your fun where you can. 

All this is to say, if you are planning on stopping by, give us a ring first because I plan to spent the next two bank holidays in my robe with wet hair and hiding in the bedroom.  Of course, there are no promises that we will answer…

Splitting Hairs

I got excited to write about my topography.  I felt like I was finally getting a handle on this stuff.  It’s superficial, I know.  But after years of never really feeling confident in my skin, I was feeling good about being in my thirties.  My acne was finally clearing up and I was down to just getting those cute little pimples that disappear in a day instead of the painful mountains that hang around for months and cause scarring because I can’t stop picking at my face.  I finally accepted my flat, limp, poker straight hair and we have been having a very nice relationship since.  So I decided to start writing about this journey of coming to grips with what I have to work with.  (While grammatical-unsound, that last sentence has a nice rhythm.  At least in my head).

Then it all started to fall apart again.  My nails (which have always been my go-to feature) started flaking and peeling uncontrollably, my skin started erupting again, and,  horror of horrors, today I plucked a chin hair that had a split end!!!

WHAT!!!

Let’s ignore the fact that I have chin hairs to pluck-but a split end to boot?  How much damage can a chin hair be exposed to, really?  I’m not applying excessive heat or product. Or any heat or product.  Although, wouldn’t that be a conversation starter-“Yes, I like to use a combination of mousse, round brush, and low heat to achieve this perfect pig-tail curl.”

Clearly, I got a little over-confident and my body wanted to remind me who is really calling the shots. 

Behind every great man...

Welcome to ‘The Chronicles of a Reluctant Housewife’ where I document my love/hate relationship with my current occupation.

It has been an interesting week. 

I decided to sleep-in all week, and then spent each evening tossing and turning and reluctantly crawling out of bed because ‘what was the point?’

I did get the doctor’s appointment done.  Always fun, that one. I got the jean skirt almost done.  It took me one and a half Harry Potter movies and I still have more work.  I also altered some trousers (the rest are too nice for my improv alteration skills).  I didn’t write any posts (more on that later) but I did plan a weekend away for Pete’s big birthday (although he has to do all the driving).

This week I realized that it has been a year since I have contributed financially to our family.  In about two months I will complete my first year as a housewife.  I have come to realize that what I like about the job is not enough to satisfy me in the long term.  While they might be helpful, laundry, food lists, errands, chores and general reminders aren’t really inspiring.  I haven’t been holding up my side of the team. 

My beautiful husband turns 30 this week (I know, he’s a young’n). In the past five years I have watched him go from working shifts in a basement monitoring computers to creating a global VP position for himself at an international company, while also dealing with my fortnightly PhD breakdowns.  That is inspiring.  (Incidentally, he also planned five years of holidays, a surprise proposal in a foreign city, managed all our finances, negotiated for our current flat, and temporarily ran away with the circus). 

Meanwhile, I have gone from part-time professor and dance teacher and funky independent woman to financially (and visa) –dependant housewife.  I racked up the calligraphy adorned papers, became a half-decent cook and planned an international five-week extravaganza (although Pete helped with that a bit as well, and really, the cooking is an accomplishment since five years ago I could barely cook rice).  Except I did all that while still contributing (no matter how little) to our financial pot.  For the last year I have done nothing inspiring.  I have had all the time in the world and the best I have done is ensured there is dinner and clean shirts and lost some weight.  It’s helpful to Pete, but it’s not really inspiring. 

I stopped writing regularly about my weight loss and domestic life because I thought there was more to me than that.  Turns out I was wrong.  My life is about diets & dishes.  I am the woman behind the great man.  Is it wrong to feel that it isn’t enough?

Filling the Hours

Welcome to ‘The Chronicles of a Reluctant Housewife’ where I document my love/hate relationship with my current occupation.

There was this line in Chuck the other night where Awesome is telling Chuck that he is standing outside his own door, breathing deeply because he needs to calm himself before he steps inside.  This is because his wife makes up for not talking to another adult in 10 hours in about 10 minutes.  Pete laughed a bit louder than this particular dialogue warranted.  Perhaps he saw a connection to his own life. 

But it is true.  The life of the reluctant housewife does mean limited human contact, let alone adult contact.  I have yet to come to a solution for this.  Currently, I keep the TV or radio on all day as a form of company.  It’s like being a little old lady. 

I have a week before my next project starts up.  I have been working on a plan to keep me occupied and entertained during the day.  Ellie (the TV wife) spends her days doing brain research.  My plan is a little less intellectually challenging.  Part of it includes writing a few posts for this here blog.  A bit of spring cleaning of the closet.  Finally getting that jean skirt made.  A doctor’s appointment.  A bit of clothing alteration and reading over my dad’s screenplay. 

I also intend to sleep in.  Recently, I have found our bed to be incredibly comfortable.  The morning sun streaming in with the fresh air. I think that I have finally created the perfect dent in the mattress to fit my body.  I also bought some new pillows a few weeks ago.  Lovely. 

Plus, the more I sleep in the less time I have to fill. 

A Lost Weekend

I owe you a housewife report but I was busy pulling my mum out of traffic this weekend.  We spent the weekend showing Mum around our little patch of London.  We walked over Tower Bridge, shopped at Borough Market, and then stayed close to home in Greenwich and Blackheath.  The weather cooperated for the most part.  Yesterday was a bit chilly and we returned to the house quickly (just in time for the sun to come out). So all in all, a successful weekend. 

Mum was here for my graduation.  I am finally finished with the PhD process.  It was anti-climatic, which is par for the course.  There were only three PhDs walking in my ceremony.  All women. One was genuinely excited and interested to hear what we all did and what we were doing now. The other was dismissive of my particular project and current lack of academic work (I said I was working on a book). It put me off for the rest of the day and I wasn’t able to enjoy this moment.  I know it was her own problem, but at that moment, the last thing you want to hear is someone dismissing all your hard work.  I tried very hard to move past the back-handed comments. I turned my attention to the musically performance. One particular song struck me, “Send in the Clowns.” I don’t know who picks the music for the ceremony or if it was the same music at the four ceremonies that weekend, but I couldn’t help but think it was connected to my project title.  It seemed such a coincidence. It probably is, but I enjoyed thinking that it was for me.  I have to admit I welled-up at bit during the performance.

As it came time to cross the stage, I tried to stay in the moment and enjoy this last part of the process.  And then it was over.  It’s all over.

What next?

Well, I have to get back on the WW track.  I haven’t been tracking these last few weeks and it has been a bit of a yo-yo.  Along with that it is back to my running and yoga routine. I also am back to my writing, hopefully.  I sent off a chapter for an edited book the day before Mum arrived. I have a meeting on Thursday about editing a colleague’s manuscript. I have another chapter for another book due in August.  My dad has just finished a draft of his screenplay and wants my notes. None of this is paying (or at least not much) but I hope it is leading somewhere.  I will also be working a bit harder on the blog.  I have been lazy as of late. I would like to think that there is more to my life than dieting and cleaning and I will try to make the blog reflect that.  I haven’t given up on attempting a book from the research, but I’m still in the thinking stage of that project. 

But now my attention is turning to a jean skirt and a birthday.  I have been saving pairs of jeans to make a skirt since before Christmas.  It is time. This is the season.  It is also time to turn my attention to my partner in crime.  It is time to celebrate him and his 30 years on this earth.