So the Hubs looks around the kitchen last night and says to me, "The trouble is, neither one of us is a wife." Now, you might think that I, an ardent feminist, would have objected to this comment, but I didn't. Because I have said many times that we need a wife to run this household so we don't have to life in such domestic chaos, or a manny. What we really mean is that we need a family manager to do all of the things that tend to fall on the "wife" social role. Because I too would like to come home to a sparkling clean & neat house, a home cooked meal, and a fed and bathed child. Oh, and of course perfect martini (vodka, shaken, with multiple olives), comfy slippers, and time to relax in the recliner before eating that scrumptious meal. Who wouldn't want this? Those 1950s middle class husbands had it good, man.
Today we are cleaning for my parents' arrival tomorrow. And by cleaning I mean creating the illusion of order and achieving the base level of home hygiene. It's not that I don't prefer a very clean and orderly home. I just cannot be bothered to do the work involved to get it.