Mormon Housewife

They jokingly refer to me as the Mormon housewife, and I'm not quite sure who should be more offended. The Mormon?  The housewife? Regardless, it bugs me because it's true, except for the parts that aren't. I'm baby-hungry, but a horrible cook; I spend my free time doing laundry or sweeping the floors, but only to an extent. Only because I have to. I do, however, enjoy strolling the home goods aisle at Target, convincing myself we can afford one more end table. I can even make myself think it's a necessity. Yet when the home is complimented and praise directed to me, I defer. I understate my involvement. Why am I so bugged to be called housewife?

There are lots of bugs in this house.  Spiders that crawl quickly out of sockets, flies that bang blind into window panes, and beetles that look bored as I paint or stain or whatever womanly project I've undertaken. Womanly. What happened to my feminism? My rejection of misogyny? A tiny black beetle crawls slowly over the throw pillows I've so carefully chosen, considering pattern and color, yearning for style yet restraining myself to what I consider a masculine color pallet or a bold pattern. Perhaps this is why I'm uncomfortable when my roommate dons red heels and boasts of his shapely legs. I want to crawl away and hide in the walls of my own do-it-yourself, follow-the-instructions gender norms.

I gently lead the bewildered beetle into a glass cup and carry him outside to the grass. And just like that, over time, I remove the unwanted parts of me from the presentable household I'm keeping.

Metal Meets Metal

Lazy Sunday
swaddled in blankets
like baby Jesus,
binge-watching Glee
(unlike baby Jesus)
when Wes asks
to borrow my car,
the maroon one
with the funny
seatbelts.  Sure,
I say, why the
hell not?

Mouth stuffed
with chips and dip,
fingers fumble
for the controller:
Hulu is having trouble
playing this title right
now.  Stupid Hulu.
Phone vibrates
on faraway end
table.  What the hell
does Wes want?
I wonder.

Just minutes before,
(mere blocks away)
metal meets metal,
one car meets
a second, and in
seconds my lazy
Sunday is no more.
Hulu starts up as
my car dies, and while
Rachel melodramatically
sings, Wes' voice
comes in clear.

I wrecked your car,
he says, I'm so sorry.
And I am, too.
Sorry it happened
to him; sorry
it had to be me.
Don't blame yourself,
I want to say,
It could happen to anyone.
But all I manage is
a whispered Jesus
as Hulu pauses again.

DIY: Modern Wood Wall Art

Truthfully, I haven't been nearly as crafty in this new house as I thought I would be. I envisioned myself finding old, used pieces of furniture and carefully refinishing them; I once even thought we'd build our own dining room table when I saw housewives on Pinterest were doing it. But in reality, I ended up buying a ton of factory-made, assemble-it-yourself pieces from Ikea and Target. With the exception of staining a shelf from Michaels, I haven't been very DIY at all.

Two new wing-backed dining chairs I purchased online from Target were delivered yesterday and they look pretty awesome if I do say so myself. I think the rustic old table (from Payson Indoor Yardsale on Facebook) and the industrial metal chairs (also from Target) look pretty cool combined with something so classically refined, don't you think?

Anyway, the chairs came in a big box with lots of thick cardboard and two pieces of thin wood.  The wood seemed like the perfect size for some wall art.  Finally, it was time to get crafty!

1. Get a sheet of plywood or something.  I was pretty lucky getting mine for free.
2. With painter's tape, tape off a funky grid.
3. Stain it!  A little can of wood stain is only like $5.  I got our gray stain from Home Depot, and decided to do a few random squares in a darker walnut.  After it dries go ahead and peel away the tape. Ours bled a little, but we liked the effect.
4. Hang it up!  I just screwed it directly into the wall.  I figured the screw heads were kinda rustic industrial.
5. Now your modern wood wall art is ready to enjoy.  Ours is in the dining room above the bar.