Suburban Housewife

Sitting here on the computer, slowly getting slushy from the cheap Moscato I bought earlier when the kids were doing my head in, I'm thinking I've got all this stay-at-home-housewify thingy worked out. I figure Step One in this revelation is to drink more. How good do kids look when you've had a glass or three? Their cheeks are so mooshy, their smells are less offensive and their bickering suddenly dissolves into a light, crisp and fruity palate state of mind.

Lately (and I mean in the last 24 hours) I've come to the conclusion that there must be five types of housewife - The Liar, The Illusionist, The Magician, The Naturalist and The Beyond Care.

The Liar

These women have the perfect house, husband, kids and menus. Their houses are immaculate - not a speck of dust, dirt or urine to be found. Or so they say. Many of these model mums can be found hiding behind a keyboard updating their Facebook statuses or blogs with how wonderful their lives are. And we fall for it. And we rate our own lives on it. Their husbands cook them delicious breakfasts in bed without needing a reason, they know how to use a washing machine and a potato peeler and don't fart in their presence. Their children are clean, respectful, complete their homework the day they receive it and also don't fart in their presence. Their menus are planned a month in advance, are all natural and well presented. I have no doubt that many of these perfect mums are lying liars who are lying through their lie holes and are as reliable as a sleazy adult phone chat chick at $4.95 per minute. You believe she's a sexy blonde with big chumbawumbas because she said so. Why would she lie?

I would be The Liar in a heartbeat, if I knew none of you knew me.

The Illusionist

The Illusionist often talks about how she busted her arse at home this morning, putting things away and in their place. Yes, she has avoided telling a lie. She has been putting a packet of Tim Tams away while watching Ellen, and has put the hired cleaner in her place for not scrubbing the toilet hard enough. There are two types of Illusionist. One is embarrassed to have a cleaner and the other will proudly say it's worth every cent. You will often be asked to a Illusionist's house just after the cleaner has left. I couldn't have a cleaner. I would be manic (see the next category) and clean my shit-hole to an inch of its life so the cleaner wouldn't think I was the filthy slob with feral children that I really am. In reality though, I would really, really love a cleaner. But I feel the money I save in not having one can be spent more wisely on medication and wine. And wine makes the house sparkle.

I could happily be The Illusionist.

The Magician

The phone rings, the heart pumps, the I'm-in-the-area/coffee morning/playgroup visit will be at The Magician's house in an hour. Pacing the kitchen floor chanting fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck will not help The Magician in the long run. She needs to think quickly and creatively. What rooms will they not need to see? What crap can be stuffed in the dryer? I won't need the oven, will I? Does the toilet reveal the stains and strains of last night's Mexican meal?Strategically placed toys, ornaments and books can instantly conceal the layer of dust and crumbs from view, leaving you time to sweep the floor and push it deeper under the couch just out of sight. The Magician is sweating and racing around like a teen on speed at a music festival. A quick spritz of lavender air freshener to hide the decomposing rubbish in the bin and the recently changed nappy containing a horrendous number three from your teething baby, and you're ready to go. Then they're fucking late.

Sounds like I know what I'm talking about? Yep. I am The Magician.

The Naturalist

I met a Naturalist once. This type of housewife is organic, calm and centred. Her children could throw poo on the ceiling and she would call it self-expression. Her house is chaotic, borderline hygienic and almost odour free, as her children roam naked from the waist down and use her garden as their toilet. Her calming and welcoming approach to everything makes you not even realise you are sitting in an over-cluttered, mud-smudged, compost bin of a home. And that's strangely comforting. It is a home. You'll need to step over the toys and plates of unfinished food, and move the pile of washing to one side of the couch to sit down, but because The Naturalist isn't terribly bothered by the sight of life happening before her eyes, you're not bothered either. And you feel content knowing that your home is not much different, with or without the semi naked kids using your azaleas as a urinal. Most of us are innate Naturalists. But we impose such pressure on ourselves by reading about The Liars and knowing some Illusionists, that we become the Magicians. We need to embrace our inner Naturalist and go with the flow of raising children and running a house. 

I would like to feel the serenity of The Naturalist.

The Beyond Care

These housewives couldn't give a shit about the three month old opened milk carton on the lounge room floor, the pile of cat poo behind the TV or that you need to cover your mouth and nose when you walk in the door. If this is the impression you get from the entrance, you'd better be able to hold your bladder. The stack of old newspapers and bags of used nappies as you walk up to the front door should've been warning enough. Gee, is that the time? I just remembered something I forgot. Let's do this again real soon. At my house this time.

I sometimes feel I am heading down this path, and then my self-respect kicks in and I'm happy being The Magician.

Of course, there are just well organised people who can keep on top of the daily maintenance of a house. Their homes are tidy and sanitary. Some are sterile. But it all fits together for them. No need to be The Liar. They don't need to be The Illusionist or even The Magician. But they can simply get their shiz together in small steps everyday. Yes, I am jealous. 

What housewife are you?