Lately I'm thinking, "This must've been what it was like being a housewife."
It's weird because I've never lived with a housewife. My mom was never solely a housewife. My whole life she worked outside the home and in addition kept the household (with our help). Like her I cook — but unlike her, I've never been a housekeeper and I'll never be a good housekeeper because I hate cleaning house.
I LOVE a clean house, but I don't want to be the one doing it.
Just like salad — love eating it, hate making it.
Housewife. Seems that's the only identity I have these days.
Not working in a regular job. No identity there.
Not a 24/7 mom anymore. Of course my kids love me, still need me at times, but they're almost 25 and functioning pretty damn well on their own. As my friend Lynnie says, I'm a mother, but I'm not mothering.
Since my mom died almost nine years ago, no longer a daughter and not a sister or a sister-in-law. With my sister and sister-in-law both gone (estranged from my only other sibling and his wife), even my sister identity no longer exists.
So I spend my days food shopping and cooking. I cook because in my family background, food is love. Pea & lentil soup speckled with bits of smoked ham hocks and ground coriander. A meaty Bolognese sauce loaded with minced onions, carrots, basil, oregano, and heavy cream. A North African-inspired chicken with chickpeas and spinach — what Rachel Ray would call a "stoup" — a cross between a stew and a soup — fragrant with ginger, garlic, saffron, cumin, and allspice.
None of it tastes like anything to me.