Rambling Preamble to the Real Women Meme

When I read the first part of Nutmeg's post on Real Women, I thought immediately of something I wrote almost twenty years ago. Further down, I found that she had tagged me to do it too, and so the hunt began.....

"Where did I put it? Where the hell is it? I know I put it here."

There's usually some logic to where I stash things----hush you in the peanut gallery, there is...its just not your garden-variety logic. Finally, after tears of frustration, and muttered imprecations about my untidy mind, I found it. In the first place I had looked---just not thoroughly enough.....sigh.

For a little background. We were living in Montana. It was the middle of winter. There was snow on the ground and frost in the air. Liz was in tenth grade, the boys were in seventh and fifth, California Girl was four or five, and always ready to divest herself of whatever warm clothing I had trussed her up in, and escape to the outdoors to run naked in the snow. The YS was still in diapers. And if you're not tired already, just thinking about that much, we also had two rambunctious springer spaniels, barely out of puppyhood. There was a shadowy figure we called Dad in the picture, but he was a squadron commander at the time and always at work.

The day in question was one of those, where, from the moment your feet hit the floor in the morning, everything goes wrong. When the children came home from school everyone was milling around the kitchen, which was none too spacious. Strange and noxious fumes were emanating from the diapered one. And THEN someone let the dogs in. Joyous dogs they were, and I loved them dearly, just not at that particular moment on that particular day. They had their dancing shoes on, courtesy of Mr. Montana Winter, and they were ecstatic to see the kids. Bedlam. Screeching children. Excited, tap-dancing,vigorously tail-wagging,enthusiastically drooling dogs, muddy ice quickly turning to muddy slush all over the kitchen floor..... Something exploded inside my head.

"Out!" I roared. I had to roar. No one would have heard me if I'd spoken in my normal, civilised voice.

"Out of my kitchen! All of you! And don't come back!"

They scattered. To bedrooms, to the basement, to Timbuktu, for all I cared. I slammed the door shut, grabbed some paper and a pen, sat down in the middle of the kitchen floor, and through tears of rage aud frustration, wrote the following advertisement, which I had every intention, no matter how ridiculous it sounded, of sending to the classified section of the newspaper.


"Wanted ASAP!

One warm and kindly woman, to care for five children, their father and their dogs.
Must be a refined person, even-tempered, understanding and infinitely patient.
Should be content to work for love, not filthy lucre.
Must agree, in writing, never to develop the flu, a headache, an upset stomach, an aversion to children, or anything that might hinder her in the proper discharge of her duties.
Said duties will include cooking, cleaning, dusting, scrubbing, and laundry ---in its multi-faceted glory. In addition, the applicant will be on call twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, fifty two weeks a year. This cannot be over-emphasised as unforseen emergencies occur with regularity.

A very dim view would be taken of an applicant likely to come unglued at the sight of broken bones, split chins, gaping wounds or gushing blood. An iron constitution is imperative.

The successful applicant should be a person of humble, self-effacing disposition, since the pursuit of personal interests might lead to discord in the household. Of course this requirement would be waived in the desirable, but unlikely,event the applicant actually gets her jollies from scrubbing, cooking, cleaning, dusting,and laundry in its multi-faceted glory.

The person selected will find she spends most of her day caring for the children, ensuring that they are at all times clean, warm, well-fed and healthy. The littlest girl has a penchant for running naked in the snow; the boys show little interest in wearing clothing appropriate to the season, and have a particular aversion to baths and picking up their toys.

It would be expected of the successful applicant that she would overcome these minor problems in a cheerful and positive manner. She should strive to maintain a calm, harmonious atmosphere, and never resort to such extreme measures as locking the little darlings in their rooms and throwing the keys down the toilet, or forcing them to go to bed without ice cream. Gentle persuasion is preferred at all times to ranting and raving, especially in family room combat situations. She must be mindful always of their delicate psyches. Hers however, should be of steel.

The applicant will find it is easier to achieve peak performance in her duties if she can arrange to have six additional hours in her day instead of the usual twenty four.

While the older children are in school, in addition to the younger two, she will have complete charge of the family dogs. Their intake of playdoh, which the pre-schooler generously shares with them, must be carefully monitored to ensure that it does not exceed the USRDA for dogs under one year. The applicant's chances of securing this job will be greatly enhanced by the ability to wield a poopie-scooper with skill and a pleasant smile.

The father will be the easiest part of this job, departing as he does, before dawn, and returning well after dark. His requirements are few ---sporadic feeding, a steady stream of clean underwear and shirts, and peace and quiet on his rare sojourns at home.

This highly desirable job is available only because the person currently holding the position is losing her grip on reality and will be departing soon to take up beachcombing in the Bahamas.

Qualified applicants may obtain further details from Molly Bawn. But hurry. She may have a better day tomorrow."


So there you have it. Real women, as much as they love being moms and wives, need to have breathing space, and time,once in a while, just a little time, to remember who they were before life swept them away on this marriage, children, mortgage, sleep deprivation roller-coaster ride. Guilty as charged.

Did I hear someone mutter "procrastinator"? Once again, guilty as charged........I'm thinking, I'm thinking! More next post.....