The Housefrau

The older I get, the more I realize what a little housefrau that I am capable of being. I used to be (as in, just a couple of years ago) the absolutely most horrible housekeeper that was ever put on this planet. And I'm still not one of those people that freaks out if she doesn't get to vaccuum every day. But I can get a lot done fairly quickly. And I'm more aware of messes and how to avoid them/clean them quickly. The only thing that keeps me from having a perfectly clean, perfectly straight house at all times is a) the fact that Alice can crawl very, very quickly and has a burgeoning shoe fetish (e.g., she pulls out all the shoes in the house and carries them around with her no matter where I hide them) and b) I don't have the desire to have a perfectly clean, perfectly straight house. Almost, in this case (and only in this case), is quite good enough.

But in the kitchen I am the Housefrau to End All Housefraus. I love to cook, in fact, it is the one thing that I do that makes me feel totally comfortable. As much as I love fashion and clothing, I am never as happy as when I am wearing my old yoga pants and a tank top, tooling around in the kitchen. And I find myself getting continuously better at it. I used to be scared out of my mind at the thought of making yeast breads. And then...I did it. And now I do it weekly, if not more. I cook to show love, I cook to get myself out of a funk, I cook when there is nothing left to do but cook. In my tiny kitchen (it is insanely tiny, ya'll, and I have no modern appliances--I do not own a food processor or a stand mixer or a blender--just the bare minimums), I am simultaneously myself and the woman that I want to be.

But real life steps in. That is, life outside of my tiny kitchen. This week, I got a new job. A job that is full-time as opposed to my old job which was just 30 hours a week or so. I am definitely excited--mo' money and a position that is more in line with what I ultimately want to be doing. BUT, I wonder what this means for my housefrau tendencies. Especially with the holidays coming up. And now I find myself wondering what all I can get away with making now and storing in the freezer. I am thinking this weekend will be the weekend of the Cinnamon Rolls . And how many batches of cookies can I fit in our freezers? Should I go ahead and go to Sam's Club now to stock up on my stuff? What about lasagnas? How many of those can I put in the freezer? The mind boggles.

I think this desire to put up stuff for harder or busier times is genetic. Last night I was down at my grandmother's house. My children had sold cookie dough as a fundraiser for school, and my grandmom had sold a bunch at her weekly bluegrass dance. I was helping her to get it stowed in her freezer when I noticed....my grandmother lives alone. And she has a full length stand freezer FULL of stuff. FULL. And the whole time we're stowing the cookie dough, she's talking about making more fried pies to put in there. We finish stowing the cookie dough and take the rest over to my aunt's house across the street to deliver it. While we're over there, a green truck pulls up in my grandmother's yard. My grandmother hurries out of her house, and there stands these two men holding a 50 pound bag of potatoes. They give it to her--just give it freely and happily because they are nice people and this is just what people do. They even take it down to her cellar for them. She promises to pay them in fried pies. Then after they leave, she starts putting the potatoes in a box for me. I tell her to keep them, that I don't need them, and she goes, "Morgan, I've got another 50 pound bag coming tomorrow that I've already asked for. I don't know what I'm going to do with all these potatoes! I might freeze them...or find some way to can them...or..."

Yup, it is definitely genetic.