Call me mother. An ode to the 1950's housewife.

Inspired by my grandmother’s life story and motivated by my parents’ absence**, tonight I attempted my best impersonation of a 1950’s housewife. And let me tell y’all – it was tough work!

My goal was to have an impeccable (or at the very least, tidy) kitchen, dinner in the oven, cold beer in the fridge, baby in bed, and be wearing perfume and pearls by the time my husband returned from a long day at the office.

Sound impossible? Challenging, certainly, but achievable with a bit of forward planning. Let me tell you how I accomplished this miraculous feat, my fellow sisters of the 21st century motherhood club.

(1)   Forego your coffee dates with other mothers. Gulp. Doesn’t that sound so utterly unfair? You’d have to be some kind of crazy to give that up, right? Let me put this into perspective for you. My grandmother had four children and a husband who worked 3 jobs every day to afford to put food on the table. When she wasn’t cooking, she was doing laundry. When she wasn’t doing laundry, she was mending socks. And when she wasn’t mending socks, she was cooking again. Occasionally, bless her, she’d get some respite when she’d pop next door to Mary’s place for half an hour to borrow a cup of flour and have a yarn. We modern mums need to remember that we are living a life of luxury with our coffee dates and yoga classes. You’d be amazed at how self-satisfying it can be to sacrifice these indulgences in order to have a tidy home and a delicious meal in the oven. One missed coffee date and I had a valuable hour up my sleeve to do the vacuuming. Incredible.

(2)   No late afternoon walk to appease the whinging bub. At some point we are all guilty of treating our children as though they are the centre of our universe. But consider the French for un moment (as is the fashion in the world of motherhood literature at present). Their children are important and loved, but they are not treated like miniature-sized kings. I am pathetic when it comes to pandering to my child. Ever restless, I find myself having to pacify her in the pram or the baby bjorn at least twice a day. I’m keeping my weight down (yay!), but losing valuable “housewife points” by constantly being on the move (boo!). In the afternoon my grandmother would be sorting out the evening meal and making sure she was beautiful in preparation for my Grandpa’s arrival. My late-afternoon stroll has me looking more gym bunny than playboy bunny, and so I vowed to leave Frankie to her own devices to amuse herself for a while. There were a few tears, but we both survived it. Bien Sur!

(3)   Remember the bedroom. Lately, my own bedroom has been feeling a little neglected. I have been able to keep the rest of the household in some sort of working order, but my room has turned into a dumping ground of epic proportions. This is our love den! This is our sanctuary! My lack of respect for its condition is proving that I am lacking in good housewifey-ness. Make the bed. Straighten the sheets. Sweep. Dust. Put on a candle. You’ll not only feel better as a wife, you’ll feel better as a human. I promise.  

I appreciate that life has moved on since my grandmother's generation of women and things have been
made a lot easier for us. But with all the great advantages of the modern age, maybe something is
missing? A little bit of selflessness can lead to a real sense of achievement. For one of only a few
moments since having Frankie, this experiment made me feel like I was both a confident mum and a
credible wife.

**Yes, I am 30 years old, living with my parents, my partner and our 7month old baby. Don’t judge me.