Underwires not required

This morning Jason took a very rare and sorely needed sick day. Personally, Mondays might be my favorite day of the week. Everyone goes back to their own lives and I have the morning to do whatever strikes my fancy.

In typical Monday fashion, at 6 am I zombied out of bed and into yoga pants and one of Jason’s sweaters, sans a bra because hey, it’s Monday and I’m the master of the universe. Once the kids were off on the bus, the breakfast dishes done, June deposited in the local kindergarten and Georgia heavily invested in Land Before Time 7, I sat down to quilt.

I have quilting issues. Unfortunately for my housework and those in my family who rely on me for food and comfort, when I start a sewing project I get kind of manic about finishing it as fast as humanly possible. This is why I’ve avoided quilting for the past decade, there is nothing afternoonish about it. This particular quilting project is mostly huge (82 different swatches of fabrics for my blocks) and extremely messy and forget about brushing my teeth this week because who needs to talk to people anyway?

I quilted until ten when my doorbell ushered in the first of four scheduled singing students. Fuzzy teeth, unrestrained bosom, who cares? It’s Monday and I make the rules.

After two lessons and lunch for Jason I sat down with a massive pile of laundry to fold. Jason sat there and watched me (not because he isn’t helpful, he was a sick baby, people).

“So,” he finally said, “Do you…you know…like doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“You know, laundry, housework.”

“No, I do not like laundry.” These moments of martyredome are so delightful. There’s nothing better than being caught in the act of Cinderella-ish behavior and taking one for the team.

But I couldn’t quite pull it off. All I could think about was the fact that I was only doing laundry because I wanted to do laundry. There I sat, loose boobed and yesterday’s makeup smeared under my eyes, eight quilt blocks and two students to show for the morning, and all because I wanted to.

Why? Because in this little world of mine I am the most powerful, the most influential, the most opinionated person anyone in my little family knows. When I’m not happy, they’re not happy. When I’m in a good mood, they’re in a good mood. I decide what we eat, when we sleep, who has clean underwear and who doesn’t.

Oh, the power.

“Then again,” I said to Jason, “I am kind of the boss around here so I really can’t complain. No one told me to fold these clothes, did they? If I want to quilt all day I can quilt. If I want a nap at 9:30 in the morning, I nap. I like being the boss.”

“Man,” he said, “You are so lucky. I hate having a boss.”

“Yeah, poor you. Now go collect the whites so I can start another load.”

And he did. See what I mean?



  1. This sounds just like my life! I never thought of myself as the boss of the house (i’m sure my hubs wouldn’t appreciate hearing it…) but that’s how i’m going to think of myself from now on. Postiivity!

  2. Wow, this did so much for my state of mind you should bill me for therapy. Here I’ve been moping around in this “my whole life is drudgery” kind of funk, and then I read this. Seriously game-changing perspective. Thanks!

  3. Alison (You know who) says:

    You are so funny 🙂 And yes, I STILL read your blog even though I am one of your besties now 😉