Housewifing as a verb: What Housewifery Means to Me

Housewifing, or housewifery, has never been a passion of mine, but a longtime light hobby. It first started in 2009, when I was between school and a cross-country move. My then-boyfriend (now-husband) was letting me stay with him for a few weeks, and I was growing my hair out (which means it was extra effort to make it look cute every day... you guys know in-between lengths). Aforementioned adorable runner friend was working in a winery, and another friend had a "job" of dubious origins and veracity. I spent my days lunching with friends and drinking (mostly free or v cheap) wine, wearing dresses and pearls (literally), making sure my makeup was light yet polished, and that my hair was curled. Somewhat unfortunately for me, my hair being curled was sometimes cute but mostly made me look like a housewife or golden girl. They were good times, I rocked that look. 

The famed hairdo, on a good day. Note the wine.
(I'm next to an awesome lady who is now also a wife, though I think she leaves the house)

stocking up for a very housewifey day

Anyway, I've come a long way since Housewifest '09. I drink a lot less because I'm not freshly out of college, and for other grown up reasons. I also actually have some semblance of a domicile now, instead of a room that someone let me sleep in that I just haven't left. Of course, a house also means that I have chores/ stuff to do inside of it, like clean it and other things inside of it, and other grown up house things. 

Right now, my housewifing feels a lot like playing house, or rather playing [at] housewifery. Maybe it's because I have someone else living here that I want to make the house nice for. Maybe it's because I've only been in this "house" as a significant other. Maybe it's because the times I've played at housewifery I've been financially supported by my partner, while he works outside the house and I pretty much have the freedom to catch up on Breaking Bad in my underwear while eating fruit nuggets*. Or you know, I could work inside the house. Either way, it doesn't feel permanent (I don't judge anyone for making the "stay-at-home" decision at all, that mess is hard! It's just not what's listed on my LinkedIn or what I tell people I "do"). I know that there will be an end to this pretend housewifing, and I know what my "real" life looks like when I am not doing this. I also (more or less) know when the end of this entertaining but not-that-fun game will be. Sometimes it's weeks, sometimes it's "until I find a job", right now it's November 6th at about 10 o'clock ante-meridian.

I would like to think that my parents raised me pretty well in the domestic arts (although they were extremely lacking in teaching me the dark arts). From about middle school, I could cook an edible meal, do dishes and general scrubbing, laundry, tidy up, mop, sweep, vacuum, yadda yadda yadda. Doing those things never felt like being a grown up, they just felt like things that people who aren't wild beasts do. I'm not sure on how wildebeests keep house, I don't want to judge them. Also, it probably didn't hurt that I started doing them well before 'adulthood', and they didn't make me feel grown up then, either. I mostly tried to get out of doing these things by getting sick. I actually willed myself to fall ill in order to avoid cleaning. My mom was never having it. As a side note, I guess I appreciate that since I still feel sick when it's time to clean now, but I don't take any of my (own) crap either. Thanks, Mom.

but can she make a casserole?

*or Silver Surfers, If I can get my hands on them... both the Nuggets and the Surfers are AWESOME present ideas. For any occasion.

La France est Mort. Vive La France!

Woooo! Surprise trip to France today! More than anything, I can barely wait because the food is amazing. As someone who pretty much just thinks with my stomach, France is truly the motherland. I can't respect anyone who does not like French food, and I don't consider a cook a real chef if they are not classically trained. It is the homeland of gastronomy, and as far as I am concerned, France invented food. 

mmmm, french cuisine

We aren't going back to my "home", Toulouse, and we aren't going to Paris (although it is a favorite of ours), we're heading to Lyon. Lyon and I have a complicated history.

In 2007ish I was living in Toulouse, and pretty much fell in love with the city. When it was time to go, I didn't want to. My study abroad program gave us the option of "extension" pending a couple of things, including an essay that made my case and explained why I should be allowed to stay. I wrote a dopey love letter to the city, and made a mixed tape, and all that jazz. It worked! They told me I could stay. I just couldn't stay in Toulouse. The University of California decided to close its program in the city, and I had to choose between an all-English program in Paris and a program in Lyon very similar to the program Toulousaine. Though I liked Paris, what would be the point of studying in English while living in France? Sure I'd pretty much perfected my franglais, but straight up anglais just wasn't going to cut it. Lyon it was.

Lyon ended up being a strange kind of purgatory for me. I wasn't where I wanted to be (Toulouse, and eventually Santa Barbara, or anywhere that wasn't Lyon), but I was still living the life! In France! ....right?

pretty much sums up my 6 months in Lyon

I had a really rough time there, which doesn't make for an especially interesting read other than some fuzzy memories of a great Thanksgiving in a snowy Grenoble. I decided to cut my year short and make it a semester. I made it home in time to vote for the first time, for our first Black president. It was exciting stuff. Just a few months after coming back from France I met the love of my life, although I didn't know it then (I mostly just thought he was hot, and looked smart and religious). 

This is the day we met. I looked pretty......smart, too.

A handful of years, a handful of moves, 3 rings, and a wedding later, he is still reminding me every day of the many reasons why I love him.

When he proposed, I was frazzled from my long flight (to say the least), and he'd prepared a multiple course meal. He says that he knew how much I love food, and how important it is to me, and he wanted for his proposal to reflect that. It did. It soooooooooooooo did. I still have dreams about that food. Absolutely delicious.

When I got back this time, much less frazzled and way more bouncing-off-the-walls excited to be with my husband, he surprised me with food again*. And it will be glorious. These are my top 5 things I am super excited about:

1. La Menthe. It's a wonderful, wonderful restaurant with a friendly owner (Olivier) and his lovely dog (Olivia). 

2. Saint-Genix, or brioche aux pralines. Lyon is well known for it's Barbie-pink pralines which are just crunchy heaven in butter pastry heaven sprinkled with heaven.

3. Lutti Surf Fizz. This is probably the third time I've mentioned "silver surfers". Some friends and I started calling them that because they come in a bag with some silver along the bottom. We were not at our most creative point. One time I actually ate so many of these, I burned quite a few of my tastebuds on my tongue. It was worth it.

4. Foie Gras. Don't even get all PETA on me. You don't know what your organic chicken actually goes through to get to your table, plus I can't stand PETA, and foie gras is amazing. I also look forward to other animal parts like gizards. Dang, France really knows its meat!

5. Oysters. I've loved oysters since I was young. If I can get my hands on any, you bet I will be slurping those suckers back! In fact, we can throw in all slimy (or not) fresh shellfish. Seasnails, scallops, prawns, shrimp, langoustines, clams, you name it. There's a decently priced fresh seafood place on the most adorable Frenchy-French street Lyon has to offer (outside of its "old town"). I will try to drag the mister in for a few hours.

There's an open market on Wednesdays that's smaller (and nicer, in my opinion) than the weekend ones, but we'll miss that so tough cookies. 

*in the form of a trip to France. In case you haven't picked up on this: to me, France=food. 

A Day in the (Real House)Life

I think we all remember my adorable friend and her adorable boyf? The ones with the co-blog? They eat vegetables and have low alcoholic thresholds? Marathons and Iron Mans? Early bedtimes and... more vegetables? I don't know what healthy people do.

Yeah her (and them). Anyway it was afternoon here, and I was engaging in a favorite pastime of my working days: avoiding work by gchatting with my friends. As my other friend and I talked about stuff I can't remember (almost definitely poop), the ever practical adorable runner asked what I do all day. 

Maybe I should give a bit of background by saying that this girl does not play. There is no bullsh*tting her, you don't get to "watermelon watermelon" your way through an answer and trick her into thinking you responded and that she just doesn't understand. She's very smart and will not be outwitted by the likes of your (or my) dummy ramblings.

Anyway, she asked what I do all day, what I really do. As I started to give her a run down, she was kind of amazed (I think?) at how good I am at doing so much to get so little done over such a long period of time. I think. 

As I started up on teasing her again about her adorkable co-blog*, she insisted that I should have a blog. Good idea, I could blog about my days of "playing housewife" (we'll come back to what that means to me later). And then I remembered that I already have a neglected blog, and that maybe that's another thing I could do between my v. important daily activities of housewifery. Yes, that is a...adjec....verb? Verb.

the house that I wife in

that's MRS vagabond to you (Iz Married Now)

 You know how you have some friends that kind of fall in and out of touch, and you don't really know when they're coming back into your life again, but when they do you guys can just pick up like you've been in touch the whole time? 

Let's do that. 

SO I got married y'all! At first it was rough. I had been asked to leave the country of our residence, which is not the country of our citizenship. Apparently countries are allowed to do that. I was kind of emotional about the whole thing, but got okay with talking about it, and was kind of proud to be able to say that no, mom, I wasn't deported. The small victories. Unfortunately, it also meant that for the 4 months leading up to the wedding, my fiance and I were on different continents. It wasn't easy, but we made it through. The wedding was amazeballs and one of the best days of my life thus far. Weddings: my new favorite thing (this also became apparent when I was at a friend's wedding a bit later, and realized it's so much more fun when it's not your own wedding). The last thing that this not-deportation meant that four days after we got married, my husband flew back to our apartment, in a country where I was no longer welcome. Snapshot into my life after that:

person: Hey Mrs Vagabond, how's married life????

me: It super sucks so far

person: le WHAT? why?

me: My husband lives in England and they won't let me back in.

(crickets)

But we got over that, and I made my way back in. The 5 minutes that the UK border agent had my passport in their back room was the longest 5 minutes of my life. I honestly had it in my head that they were going to take me into a back room, with a single bare lightbulb (law and order interrogation room style) and maybe anally probe me. Probably anally examine me. I was worried that if I wanted to get in the country, I would have to sacrifice my anus.

Freedom ain't free, y'know?

Lucky for everyone involved, they left me and my diddlyhole alone. Yay!

un-diddled

Now I am in our glorious living room, steaming it up with a turnt up heater and loads of laundry, updating my blog because I was inspired by my adorable friend's adorable co-blog with her adorable boyfriend about how they like to run and be healthy... and adorable. Barf bleuuurgh yech. But seriously we'll love them and barf at the idea of them later.

No one has really brought this up yet (probably because the last attempt was so awkward) but, if I did have this conversation, here's how it would go:

person: How's married life???

me: OMG it's the BEST, everyone should do it! Now! All the weddings! Down with DOMA (shout out to my sister making love happen all over the state of NJ). Blah blah, love and unicorns, beaming like I'm backlit in the sunshine blah blah love love love -- then you just kind of tune out because wth? chick needs to calm down with that mess

(crickets....like, seriously, how do you even respond to that? she's nuts.)

Hmm. Maybe I should find better ways of responding to that question. Oh well. So pretty much, for the past couple of weeks, I've been floating around on a cloud of nuptual bliss and laundry steam, and it's lovely, and I am annoying about it and don't even care.

Et ils se marierent et eurent beaucoup des enfants.