So today I've decided to actually chat about what's going on in the B household. I was busily making another creation for my little babe when this thought came to light: I spend more time cooking for E than I do for J.B. I research recipes, I buy crazy ingredients, I go to the store about three times a week, and I cook up a storm. All for E. My poor J.B. has been left to fend for himself. Seriously.
Even worse, I don't even let him eat what's in the house! I swear! The other day he finished the crackers that I had planned on feeding E at lunch. I was livid. Then I realized, there is nothing else in the house to eat (okay that's a bit extreme, but you see the problem). And I started to think, maybe J.B. is getting the shortest end of the S.B. stick, here?! Maybe.
For example for breakfast today, little E had a sweet custard, cereal concoction, created by yours truly; and for lunch a creamy pastina alfredo, again, an S.B. production; and for dinner, she ate homemade meatloaf. And J.B.? For breakfast he got to make himself some toast (the bread he had to thaw himself); For lunch Lord KNOWS! Probably p.b. sandwich, also made my him. And dinner? A pre-made Old Elpaso boxed dinner for which all I had to do was cook the meat. Oh yes. I am truly a supreme house-wife. I am a much more apt house-mother! ha ha!
Poor J.B. My mother and his mother, oh they would frown at me...And let's take this rant about me being a pathetic excuse for a house-wife one step even further...I don't like to clean. *gasps*. Yes. If I don't have to, I won't. Really I won't. I hate cleaning bathrooms, I hate vacuuming floors. I like a tidy house, but I am indifferent (well within reason) to a little dust...I don't have to have a shiny-polished home...That is until mother-in-law comes for her weekly E date. Then I make sure it is spic-and-span. Because she truly is the epitome of house-wife and mother...and I am nothing if not a little competitive!!! I will not have her knowing that her son did not marry a perfect house-wife...oh no... But when I don't have to worry about being graded, then I don't worry about it!
I do realize we are not living in the 1960's and my name is not Lucy or whatever...(I am not from that Era, but that name somehow came to mind). I don't put on my lipstick and get the scotch and paper ready for my man when he gets home. The dinner is not roasting aromatically in the oven, promising to be ready at five-thirty on the button. I certainly don't try to be quiet for the first twenty minutes while he relaxes and takes some personal time after his hard day at work. My child is not 'seen and not heard' during this fictitious twenty minutes...! And I don't dress up for him--okay once in a while I do, but not really for him, only if I know I am going out somewhere--I may offend if I wear my p.j's!...And to add to the don't do so well list: I do do laundry, but it will be put away in my time, unless he wants to do it. I don't press, starch, or do anything fancy with his work shirts. I also do not lay his clothes out the night before. Wow...I don't do a lot. I could make a mean 'wife won't do' resume!
Sometimes I do really feel badly that J.B. married such a non-domestic girl like myself. A girl who really does not get excited at the idea of an afternoon of housecleaning and perfecting my bed-making skills. He was raised better. I was raised better. But meh. Why give him false hope? I'll be going back to work soon and Lord knows it's going to get even worse!
So the moral of this ramble? Lucky E...for now she has my undivided attention. And for the seven years prior, J.B. did...and soon it will be the next kid's turn. And maybe one day...One day it will be MINE!
*some of the facts are exaggerated, but the essence is true.