I cut some slices of cheese and put them on a plate with Carrs Rosemary crackers. Then, I set them on the coffee table in the family room and brought the basket of laundry over to fold.
Wouldn’t it be nice, I thought, if I had someone else here to help me out? Not just to enjoy the cheese and crackers with but to, you know, help me with all the stuff I’ve got to do.
An au pair to look after the kids? Nah, someone to help with the housework, the chores.
Nah, someone I can commiserate with, share the cheese and crackers with, maybe a glass of wine. She could be cleaning up the kitchen while I fold the laundry. She could walk in and say – Oh, that looks like it needs ironing… here, let me get that.
She could start dinner, of her own initiative, because she would already have been planning what to make for the kids and Husband and me (well, for her too, I guess).
If the kids came upstairs, yelling, from the playroom, she would run interference and suggest they start drawing because that’s just what she does.
She wouldn’t wait for me to ask her to do anything because she would already be thinking about doing it herself. Just like me.
So, what I really need is….a Wife!
Mind you, I’m happily married and heterosexual. I just wish I could hire a helper for the chorey parts of my Mommy Job.
Once (before Husband and kids) I vacationed in Bali; Lombok; and Gili Trawangan, a remote island reached by fishing boat with no cars and one hotel. I fell in love with many aspects of the Balinese culture (art, food, dance, ceramics, prayer baskets) but I also brought home the secret desire to hire what I called a Houseboy.
Now, don’t take this the wrong way. I was simply a busy professional, looking to inject into my working woman’s lifestyle a gentle-natured young man sporting a sarong who would bring me frozen drinks all day and inquire if there was anything else I might need. (No, I’m not talking sexual favors here; I was honestly looking for a sweet soul to care of my house and wait on me all day.)
I guess you could say I’ve now graduated to needing a Housewife. That Balinese houseboy of my professional, single woman dreams would be roadkill in this maelstrom of preschooler mess and demands.
Why, a Wife could share so many of these roles quite capably. But the more I think about it, the crazier I know it sounds. It’s just not possible.
Fortunately, Husband has been called Handy Hubby on occasion. And, I’m pretty used to folding laundry alone. And….ah well, it’s nice to dream.