You will be pleased to hear that I have received some hatemail. Oh yes. Now, I think, I can consider myself a housekeeping celebrity and revel in the fact that I am "a fake, intent on singlehandedly destroying a century of feminism".
And not only that:
"It would be impossible to do all that you describe in a day and it is very wrong to go on perpetuating these lies to vulnerable women…"
Really? Gosh I thought my readers were a strong, real, fiesty lot. But apparently not…
"What you are doing is compromising the mental health of thousands of women who had come to accept that they could not have it all, and making them feel like failures because they aren’t fragrancing their knickers with lavender. Please stop. Own up to the fact that you are in reality a figment of your own imagination and give up perpetuating the myth that women in the 1950’s were happy."
Well somebody (who I have never heard of and shall remain nameless- mostly because any reply to their email box bounces back) has got their knickers in a right old twist haven’t they?
Now I could, if I was in the mood, launch yet another line of defence against the very idea that
Instead I am going to tell you what I did yesterday. So you can compare your lives to mine and see that I am not only real, but just like you. Grace in homemaking is a choice we don’t have to make, but on the road to contentment it is neither servile, nor when it is undertaken, an insult to feminism.
Click below to read about my day. But please be careful to guard your mental health.
I woke up at 6.45 and lay awake listening to Finley cough and trying to decide whether it was the kind of cough that would keep him off nursery. Creeping out of bed, so as not to wake Mark, I went downstairs, lit some candles in the kitchen and made myself a cup of coffee, which I drank whilst browsing through last months Vogue.
Mark came down about 7.30 carrying a puffy, bleary eyed Finley and it was obvious by looking at him, he wasn’t going anywhere and the morning of blogging I had planned was out of the window. So I flitted around the kitchen, preparing breakfast, emptying the dishwasher and loading the tumble dryer, while Mark rang the nursery and the Doctor, and then I went and snuggled with my babba as he drank his milk. Mark came down showered and ready for breakfast and we all sat down together and ate. Then I cleared the table, while Mark washed and dressed Finley, then I loaded the dishwasher, switched on my housekeeping music and started my very quick version of my morning routine, before nipping upstairs to get showered, dressed and check my emails before Mark left for work and I folded the towels out of the dryer and bundled a very miserable Finley into the car to go and see the Doctor.
Waited in the doctors for a billion years, while Finley played with some blocks and I made a list of prescription foods for his Celiacs. Saw the doctor who said Finley’s chest was clear and happily didn’t prescribe anti-biotics. Then we drove to my Mum’s house so Finley could have a cuddle with his Nana and GanGan, where I drank their delicious coffee and Finley ran riot before collapsing with exhaustion.
Said goodbye and drove to a little local row of shops, where I dropped in Finleys prescription at the chemist, and our sheets and
Drove home and chopped the last of last weeks organic veg into a pan of chicken stock for broth, then cut up some apples for an apple crumble I would later burn. Force fed Finley some medicine for his temperature, then took him up for a sleep, while I changed the
Did a quick 27 fling boogie, then poured two bowls of scrumptious soup, and sat down to eat it and watch Finley pour it everywhere. Cleaned him up. Cleaned the kitchen surface and re-laid the table for
Went into the kitchen to make a shepherds pie. Popped it into the oven and nipped upstairs to make Finleys room cosy for the night (dimmed the lights, pulled back his bed, plugged in his vapouriser, tucked
Tried once again to force feed Finley some medicine, only to have him spit it out all over me, so up we both went for a bath. Splashed a little less dementedly then usual then dressed Finley all snugly and myself in clean jamas, before going into the kitchen to get Finleys milk. Came back to find Finley flat out asleep on the floor, but woke him anyway to have his milk, because I had had to mix his medicine into it. Snuggled for half an hour with a very sleepy baby, before carrying him up to bed, and doing a silent dance of joy that he was finally there and my evening could begin…
Went downstairs to begin my evening routine. Then upstairs to get our room ready for the night. Then because I was already bathed, I did an hour of heavenly blogging before going downstairs to watch Anthea Turners "Perfect HouseWife" with a cup of chamomile, taking notes for
When he finally arrived home after a very long day, I poured him a glass of wine, and force fed him some burnt apple crumble, before going to put the kitchen to sleep , while Mark watched the sports headlines. Then we both went to bed, calling in to tuck Finley up, then getting into bed ourselves , where Mark fell promptly asleep and I read until I couldn’t keep my eyes open…
And that’s it. A very normal day. I’m not performing miracles, I just have my time arranged so that there is plenty of time to do the things I enjoy. I read, knit, cook from scratch, blog, bath, look after a sick baby and still stay sane. And if that compromises your mental health, or if I am indeed a "disgrace to Betty Friedans memory" then I am sorry, but I’m sure you will understand when I say it’s "tough".