Are You There June? It’s Me, Mikkimoto

My entire adult life I’ve been a very independent woman. I embraced the, “I Am Woman Hear Me Roar” slogan with full force. Especially when I had it tattooed on my chest.

I never liked to cook (“take-out” was cooking and making cereal was gourmet), I hated laundry with passion (have been known to buy new clothing instead of washing the dirty stuff) and I often looked at my toilet bowl and thought, “Eh, the next flush will get rid of that.”

Being a cooking/cleaning housewife was a dirty word.

That was until a ring was put on my finger and a house was bought. And now? As cliche as it is, June Cleaver’s spirit has inhabited my body like Patrick Swayze took over Whoopi Goldberg.

There have been times while unloading the dishwasher I’ve caught myself whistling. This is disgusting and unacceptable behavior for a woman who used to use the dishwasher as a kitchen cabinet.

I do laundry and actually FOLD IT THE SAME DAY! I have actually kept up with the laundry and therefore found clothes I didn’t know I had. Gone are the days of neighborhood children coming over to climb the Mikkimoto Dirty Clothes Mountain. Sorry kids.

I cook in our new beautiful kitchen with all our wedding gifts and I feel something weird. A warmth in my stomach, (no, I don’t have to poop) I feel… HAPPINESS! I LIKE TO COOK! FOOD! FOR MY FAMILY! WHO EATS IT! ALL OF IT!

The other night Matt and Ben were at a Brewer’s game so I had the entire evening to myself. Did I spend that time at happy hour with a friend? Nope. Did I lay on the couch for hours watching a “Tori & Dean sTORIbook wedding” marathon while playing “Words With Friends”? Sadly no. Did I go to the grocery store with coupons in hand and come home to make a Pioneer Woman recipe for dinner the next night that took me two hours and then cleaned the entire kitchen afterwards? YES! I DID! AND I ENJOYED IT!

WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING TO ME!?

I need a Housewife Intervention.

The nauseating truth is… I’m not sure when I’ve been happier. Things right now are just good. Even Ben said the other day, “Life is good right now, isn’t it?”

I LOVE my house. Every inch. It’s fun to empty the dishwasher because everything has a place. Not to mention it’s all new wedding presents.  “Hi cutie spatula.  You go here.  Remember?  Say hi to Mr. Spoon…”

I love finding new recipes, cooking and then watching Matt and Ben clean their plates. It’s is better than finding the cutest sandals in my size 75% off.  Well maybe not better than that but it’s really good shit.

So if I am turning into a foul mouthed (some habits die hard) June Cleaver, so be it.

However, if I start wearing pearls and aprons while saying things like, “That’s no way to talk, this is Sunday” or “Now [Ben], I want you to go in the living room and pick up those orange peels that you left on the coffee table. If your father comes home and sees them he’ll be in a terrible mood all through dinner.”, then all bets are off and send help immediately.