Donna Reed? Don't think so.

Instead of going to my high school's planned Disneyland Grad Night after graduation, my best friends and I rented a cabin in Mammoth, CA for a week. It cost the same amount of money as the Disney Grad Night, only instead of one lame chaperoned night at Disney it was seven days of uninterrupted-by-parents fun. Don't worry, we were all very well behaved. Disappointingly well behaved. In fact, we got up early every day and participated in G-rated activities like sledding and sight-seeing and hiking and we were in bed by nine every night, exhausted by all the wholesome fun. Seriously. The thing that sticks out in my mind the most about that trip is all the times George lectured me on how I was "worse than Peggy Bundy" and that he would "feel sorry for any man who would end up married to Tricia." He was mad (with good reason, I'll admit) because every night after dinner, I curled up on the sofa with bon bons and watched t.v. while he washed the dishes. Come to think of it, any time there were any chores to be done in the cabin, you could find me watching t.v. and eating bon bons while George did the chores.

For as long as Mike and I have been together, people have teased us that he's a better housewife than I am. Especially after we moved to New York and Mike's work hours dropped from 80+ a week to 20 a week and he suddenly, without being asked, took over all the domestic duties. He did all of our laundry, all the grocery shopping, he'd wake me up in the mornings with coffee and breakfast, he'd fix my lunch every day, and when I got home from work there was always a clean apartment, happy dogs and a hot dinner waiting. It was heavenly.

This past autumn, Mike's work load shot back up to 50 - 60 hours a week and I floundered, not sure how to take care of myself. Suddenly I had to fix my own coffee and clean the apartment and wash the clothes? What was I to do? I'm too embarrassed to say how long we went without clean socks and underpants. Such a vast quantity of pet hair accumulated in the apartment from my failure to vacuum, that we often found ourselves cuddling a mound of fur-shed that we'd mistaken for a live animal. And since I'm not a cook, I decided an acceptable dinner was a bag of carrots and some sliced cheese. In my defense, it takes a lot of effort to spend my days sleeping until noon and then laying around on the couch in my jammies while I eat yet another pint of Ben & Jerry's. But I'm not complaining.

When Mike started school full time in January, it occurred to me that maybe I ought to be taking care of him for once. I liked the idea and told him eagerly, "I'm going to get up with you every morning! At six! And make your breakfast!" And he patted me on the head and said, "Sure baby. Whatever you say." And then I continued sleeping late every morning, making him fend for himself in the gray hours of dawn. I wanted to get up, I really did. I wanted to fix his breakfast and his coffee the way he used to do for me, but our bed was just too comfy. It called to me and I had to answer. With my face in the pillow and the covers pulled up to my ears. But by mid-February, I started to get the hang of it. And you know what? I really love it. I love getting up at six and making his coffee, fixing his breakfast and packing his lunch. I love keeping the apartment clean and taking the dogs to the dog park at 9 a.m. I love that my days are longer and fuller and more productive. It's actually fun to take off my jammies and shower and eat vegetables instead of ice cream. Who'd have thunk it?

Last night Mike had to work late and I waited up for him, so we didn't get to bed until after midnight, and then we both overslept by thirty minutes, which meant I ran out of time to pack his lunch.

"It's 7:08. I have seven minutes to make your lunch. All we have is tuna fish and I don't think I can make tuna in seven minutes." I said, clearing our breakfast dishes from the table.
"Don't worry about it." He shrugged as he started bundling up.
"I should've gone to the store yesterday. If we had lunch meat I could throw together a sandwich in seven minutes."
"Really, baby. Don't worry about it."
"But what will you eat for lunch?"
"I'll buy something at school."
"But I feel like a failure!"
He put his hand on my shoulder, looked gravely into my face and said, "Take the pressure off, Pumpkin." And if he hadn't started to grin right then, and if that grin hadn't turned into a teasing little smirk, I'd have thought he was trying to comfort me when he added, "Domesticity is very new for you."