monday morning confession

i can't remember the last time i shopped for groceries. or vacuumed. or washed a sink full of dirty dishes after preparing a nutritious, locally-grown homemade meal. or even wanted to. i'm regressing as a housewife. something about this summer and this fall schedule and new football season have conspired against my good intentions and sapped my energy. i've let all this bar exam stuff go to my head. all my years of housewifery, all my standards, are slowly spiraling down.

and let me just tell you, the newly-sworn-in-and-able-to-argue-in-mississippi-courts-but-currently-still-open-to-employment-opportunities esquire does not make it any easier for me. how in the world am i supposed to polish my skills and stay on task when he so willingly washes last night's dishes for me every morning? or dusts and vacuums on sunday afternoons so i don't come home to a dirty house? i left him saturday morning painting bleach on a stain on his shirt, and when i returned home i found he had folded the clean towels and put them in their proper place in our bathroom. this means he pulled them out of the dryer. he doesn't even fuss when i send him a grocery list, at least not so i can hear him. and as a result, i never really remember what we have in the pantry, even though i made the list and the menu, which i can no longer find.

i think back to our first days together. i was often more than annoyed to see cereal bowls with spoons stuck to them on the side table, or half full glasses from the night before in random spots around the house, and i hated stepping on forgotten underwear in the bathroom. but he caught on and began to share in the work of wifely domain. it was such a welcomed help! but i fear i've created a monster. i've made myself totally expendable. i now know just how efficient my little househusband is. he's running circles around me with the vacuum, while i just lay on the couch with a glazed look on my face. i have got to get it together, pull myself up by my apron strings. because i know he's going to get a job soon, and then where will we be? looking at each other over a sink full of dirty dishes while i try to remember how to fold a shirt.

i'm not complaining. really. i know how good i've got it. and i know he enjoys making and keeping me happy more than he actually likes cleaning. and by no means do i want him to stop. i loooooooove basking in the faint glow of a really clean home, and doubly so when i didn't do the cleaning. i could really get used to this. stay away, ladies. this one's mine.