Southern Woman Guilt

You sometimes see a woman who would have made a Joan of Arc in another century and climate, threshing herself to pieces over all the mean worry of housekeeping. ~Rudyard Kipling

Ah, how I love this quote. Good old Kipling....

I went to the last day of the conference, and it was blessedly uneventful. I did see the skid marks from yesterday, and they were as impressive as I'd been afraid they would be.

After the half-day wrap-up, I came home, let in dogs, hauled in the treasure trove of books and materials I'd garnered during the seminar, cleaned away the debris and misplaced items from yesterday's car problems, and ran out of energy. I crawled to my bed and was asleep in moments. I suppose this was my body's not-so-subtle way of telling me it had had too much lately.

When I woke up, I was suddenly seized by an urge to get the house in order. It's so depressing to walk in and see the clutter, unfolded laundry, and half-finished projects that accumulate when I get busy. I always feel the stab of what I think of as Southern Woman Guilt that my house is not spotless and sparkling like a household cleaner commercial and I'm not in a 50's outfit (complete with bouffant and bow, apron, and heels,of course)with a meal of fried chicken, various vegetables (which I grew myself), and homemade pie big enough to feed the masses simmering on the stove.

The simple fact of it is that it's just not possible for me to live that way. I have often wondered if I could do more at home if I wasn't a teacher. I am always so drained by giving all day at school that when I come home, dragging out my ponderous and complex vacuum cleaner, lugging the laundry around to fold it, and mopping the kitchen floor are very, very low on my list of priorities. I'm in survival mode for most of the week, doing loads of laundry, sweeping up, running the dishwasher and not much else.

That leads to cleaning sessions like the one I've got on tap for tonight and tomorrow, massive, epic, Herculean stints in which every possible implement of crap removal is dragged from closet, cabinet, and drawer, music is cranked up loud enough to get the cops out if I lived anywhere except the sticks, and cats and dogs flee in terror.

It's going to be a good thing. I will feel better in the busy weeks to come if I don't have to come home to a messy house every evening. That way, I can sit down and watch the captivating Mr. D'Onofrio do his thing without guilt. ;)