A tale of an internal struggle

This entire project has been to make me into the Perfect Housewife, who cooks, cleans and takes care of her handsome, hard-working husband. By definition, The Perfect Housewife is a throwback to a time when women were the only ones who took care of the house, and the men hunted and gathered in order to keep the wife in the house instead of out in the real world.

That definition is in contrast with how I actually want to live my life. I still go to work five days a week, and I expect people to help me with cleanup if I am the one who cooks, and vice versa. I don't want to be the woman who works all day then comes home to cook and tidy while the man of the house sits and watches TV. However, I often struggle with housewife guilt, in that I want people to admire that I do hold a job while having the perfect house and cooking delicious food. It can be tough sometimes.

This internal struggle came to a head during Thanksgiving dinner with my in-laws. When Mr. V and I arrived, his mother and sister-in-law were preparing dinner for the 25ish family members who would be descending upon the house. I, feeling guilty, stepped in to help while Mr. V helped his brother with the turkey. In the next three hours, the boys sat and supervised the deep-frying turkey while I, my sister-in-law and my mother-in-law cooked a ham, steamed vegetables, roasted potatoes, made pots of rice and stuffing, and laid out the table. We then ferried food down the stairs once people began arriving.

After dinner, our little female cast was joined by my aunt-in-law and two cousins-in-law. We ferried platters back up the stairs, washed, dried and put away dishes and leftovers. The men in the family watched the hockey game, and sat around and had some drinks.

Herein lies my dilemma. It was fun to be in the kitchen with the women, catching up on family gossip and chatting. However, it was hard to walk past the living room and see the men sitting there with their beers while we carried, washed and stored food before then carrying more platters full of food (dessert this time) down the stairs again.

While I understand it's a habit that's been long-ingrained in the family, it was tough to swallow. I don't mind cooking and cleaning up (obviously, look at this project), but it felt like there was no reciprocation. The men didn't clean up, they didn't carry things, they didn't put things away. They sat on the couches and watched a hockey game.

I worry that this project is just reinforcing the stereotype that a woman's place is in the kitchen. I love cooking, I love taking care of my home, and I love my husband. What I don't love is the feeling of being nothing more than a housekeeper, and I certainly felt that over the weekend.