Domestication of the American Female

For my birthday, my brother and his new wife bought me a gift card (thanks again, you crazy newlyweds). I held on to it for three short days before racing off to the store to use it. I thought about different movies I wanted, books I would enjoy and other items of pleasure. In the end, I bought none of these items; instead I bought a hand-held, cordless vacuum (and a pair of lizard and toad pajamas for Jude. They are so cute.). I was so proud and so ashamed all at once. The ashamed part comes when I realized how much I wanted it and how much I was looking forward to trying it out. I hate housework and generally do as little as I can, just enough to keep the household from imploding (Jeff takes up the enormous slack -- thanks Jeff). But I actually got excited at the thought of being able to easily sweep out the cracker crumbs from Jude's car seat. Yes, excited. I think I have become as completely domesticated as I ever could be and I seem to be happy about it. Weird. I never pictured this happening.
When I picture domestication, I think about the women who live in the neighborhood where I work, women who are home all day and who, in some cases, have so many children that they would have literally had only months in their adult lives when they were not pregnant. These women are voices to me on the telephone and I wonder how -- and if -- they ever leave the house. Seriously. I am interested in how a woman with eight children can ever leave the house. One of my coworkers has 13 children. I see him often but have never seen his wife. She always sounds vaguely upset when she calls.
Even though I am enjoying sitting at the computer, reading movie reviews and watching my episodes of Buffy, it is time for me to go. I have a vacuum to try out.
Oh, and kids, if you have a chance, my friend has a blog that is worth checking out. Funny stuff. The link is on the right-hand side of my blog under the name "Dung!" (so named, not for excrement but for an episode of Monty Python, or so my friend tells me.) It is profane, but funny. Okay, he is not really my friend but my lover and he promised me something really . . . special if I mentioned his blog, so consider it mentioned. Also over there is a link where you can subscribe to this-here blog if you are into that sort of thing.