I've been feeling very housewife-y these past few weeks. We finally moved into our new place. Boxes are (mostly) unpacked. New puppy. New neighborhood. New patio foliage to kill. I find myself spending hours talking in baby voices to The Zeld, inspecting spots on the carpet, and producing culinary experiments out of oversized zucchini.
The older I get, the less I know what it is that I want to be when I grow up. I've changed my mind so many times, now when people ask me when I'll be done with school I tell them never. I'm teetering on the brink of professional student and professional underachiever. Independent Filmmaker. Social Worker. Law Student. Starving Novelist. Not-so Starving Humor Writer. I could fill pages with this stuff.
I want a house with brightly painted walls. A garden. My good kitchen knives. The ability the thread my sewing machine. An unlimited supply of wine. HBO. My husband. My dog.
I could totally pull-off the whole puppy pee coated, 11 am Martini making, crazy-haired housewife thing.
photo from the flickr commons