humor, writing

Why Yes, I am “The Lady of the House”

The propane guys inadvertently made my morning.  Maybe my whole day, as I’m still giggling.  This morning, a contractor my husband had contacted to get an estimate on some repair work at the bird farm rang the doorbell at our house.  Only after the furry alarm system teed off and Wyokiddo was corralled,  was I able to open the door and see what he needed.  It was a harried, chaotic and noisy moment and not a great start to our morning.
“Hi!  Your husband wanted me to take a look at some propane tanks and lines, and to call when we got here,” he told me, standing on my front step with his hat in his hand.  “But I left his number on my desk.  I figured the lady of the house would know how to find him.”

ladyLady of the House?  Oh My!  I’ve never been called the Lady of the House.  I practically tittered.

Some lady.  Wyokiddo and I were enjoying a lazy morning and I was still in my pajamas and glasses (read holey yoga pants and stained t-shirt).

The Free Dictionary online clarified this fun new phrase for me:
lady of the house – a wife who manages a household while her husband earns the family income.  

Bedhead and all, I suppose I qualified as the lady of the house.  I might start referring to myself as that.  How very Mary Lincoln it would be.

“Downar Bird Farm, this is the Lady of the House Speaking.”

“The Lady of the House requests your presence at a barbecue at her residence.”

I like it.

Now before all you modern woman choke on your Cheerios and start searching for my address to mail me your dog-eared copy of the “Feminine Mystique,” hear me out.  I don’t think I’ve set the woman’s movement back 50 years.

I chose to take it as a compliment.  I do manage our household.  I balance Wyokiddo, the dogs and the occasional overlap between our home and my husband’s office.  I try to do so with humor, humility and grace, but some days I feel like a big fat epic failure in accomplishing that.  Like when the propane guy comes at 9 a.m. and I’m not even wearing a bra.

So being referred to as a lady, or lady of the house, was a kindness bestowed by the stranger.  In that moment, he made me feel calm and capable.  He made me smile.  And I felt empowered.

Why, yes, I am the lady of the house!  And I’m proud of it.  I run our household.  I keep it mostly clean.  I keep my kid fed, the dogs happy and my husband healthy and loved.  I do the dishes, make the bed, make three healthy meals a day, schedule appointments, read stories, kiss boo-boos, complete crafts, pick up puzzles and sometimes I even find time for a little Downton Abbey.

I am the lady of the house and freaking CEO of 3998 Road 42.  Even in pajamas. 🙂

Teresa

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