I’ve been a Helpless Housewife for a year and a half. I’ve burnt
at least one item from most food groups, grown dust bunnies the size of real
bunnies, and killed two houseplants.
But in amongst the spilling, the shattering and the
not-cleaning, I’ve learned a few things.
I’ve learned I don’t have time to not take time for a break
now and then. I end up more tired after hours of work than I do after hours of
work with a ten minute breather.
I’ve learned that I need to stop and make dinner, even if I
end up throwing out a few charred tries before coming up with something edible.
It makes me consider what I’m eating and take time to enjoy my creation, which
helps me realize when I’m full, so I don’t overeat.
I’ve learned that I need to use the flowered, cracked (or, as I like to say, crackly) cups
my grandmother gave me now and then, even though I can’t stick them in the
dishwasher afterwards. I have to incorporate beauty into daily life so my soul
can breathe.
Do I actually do these things? Sometimes. Not as often as I
need. But I’m learning.
