on being a wife

Brace yourself...this post reads like a pity party with lots of lame self-advice.
You've been warned.

I've been a Mrs. for 19 months now.

And I'll tell you what.

I love everything about it.

But I often sit and wonder how good I actually am at it.

Because when I think of the poster wife, I feel like I am so far off.

Don't believe me? Let's take a look:

Poster wife: she is perfectly dressed 24/7. cute accessories, high heels, and always the perfect smile.

Me: I look forward to braless Saturday mornings, I get giddy when I think about changing into my sweats (or even just jeans!) after work, and my hair is in a ponytail 85% of the time.

Poster wife: she cooks an extravagant dinner every night--prime ribs, mashed potatoes, and steaming vegetables. topped off with a warm upside-down cake...oh, and don't forget that homemade bread cooking in the oven.  She does this with a smile too, and even has a sing-song voice that says, "Honey, dinner is ready!"

Me: If I "cook" grilled cheese or quesadillas without burning them, I call it a successful dinner made and I praise myself for the next week for making a home-cooked meal. And then when Taylor asks what we're having for dinner, I say, "Did you forget? Babe, I cooked dinner two Wednesdays ago! I'm still reveling in that joy--I don't have to cook again for at least another week!" Because let's face it...most of my dinners are too salty, burnt, or non-existant (aka we eat cereal or go out to eat)

Dear Mom, just skip over this next example...okay, thanks.

Poster wife: Her house is sparkling clean--there are never dishes in the sink.  And clothes thrown on the floor? oh, never! 

Me: I've always considered myself somewhat of a neat person (my mom may disagree).  But I was always the clean roommate--I didn't want to be the cause of a dirty apartment.  But now that I have no Mom and no roommate pressuring me to stay clean, I have found a secret dirty joy in throwing my clothes on the floor because I can. Because Mom won't tell me to come clean it up.  There are even times when I'm reaching to put my cereal bowl in the dishwasher, and then I pause and think, "I don't even have to do this!" and I skip away with a smile on my face.  Oh, and the dish? It never made it to the dishwasher. (disclaimer: our bathroom is usually always clean, except for the occasional make-up I'll leave out...dirty bathrooms give me the weebie jeebies).  And here is where I throw disclaimer #2: I definitely think messy is different than dirty.  And we are definitely not dirty.  

Poster wife: the laundry is always neatly folded and put away. She would never run out of clean towels, when her husband needs them the most.

Me: I feel like laundry is the thing I always forget to do.  I don't realize it needs to be done until I'm down to my last pair of underwear. uh-oh.  And then I forget about loads sitting in the dryer.  It's not until I think, "where the heck is that polka dot dress with green stripes and flowers?" And then I realize there's a whole load of clothes in the dryer! whoops... Mind you, searching for this specific piece of clothing means that all of my clothes in the drawers, closet, and hampers are being thrown everywhere...because I'm a girl, and once I get my mind on an outfit I want to wear, I will do anything and everything to make sure that outfit happens.  And then of course, I'll put it on, and it doesn't look as good as I imagined, and so the process will start all over again. 

Poster wife:  She is a saint.  She does absolutely everything for her husband and never asks for a thing in return.

Me: Uh...I'll ask Taylor to go get me a glass of water or my computer charger when we're both lying in bed. Yeah...I'll leave it at that.

I guess I just always assumed that when you became a Mrs, you also become super-wife.

It didn't matter if you hated cooking and cleaning when you were single, because when you get married you will become a gourmet chef and a magical maid.

It's all part of the territory, right?

Yeah...that theory didn't work so well. Clearly.
For even more proof, see these posts: here here and here

This isn't supposed to be a pity post.
I definitely know that there are things I am good at.
But I really tend to beat myself up over the things I'm not good at--the things that I feel like I'm supposed to be good at.
But I've decided to make a new goal every week to work on just one "wifely" trait.
And maybe the farthest I'll get is actually putting on a bra on Saturday morning.
But hey, at the end of the day, what you did is enough.
There's no rewinding time, so you might as well accept the small things you did achieve that day, instead of the things you didn't quite get to.
Right? Right.

All of you perfect housewives who are juggling everything perfectly and are totally judging me for this post--I give you my deepest apologies and the biggest high five I can muster.
I will be like you one day!
...maybe.

In the end, thank goodness that I have a husband that makes me feel like I'm the best wife in the world
(even if he's starving, wearing dirty underwear, and has a bedroom that looks like the closet threw up.
And I'm kidding about the dirty underwear...I hope.)
Taylor Gilbert, you are my happy!