The Accidental Trad Wife

Sunday scaries

I used to get the ‘Sunday scaries’. I wanted to make Sunday last as long as it possibly could, because as soon as you go home, you’ve given in. My poor husband. One more place, one more meal, one more drink. One more of anything that means the weekend doesn’t have to end. But last night I didn’t feel that, days of the week have lost their meaning. All days are days, Mondays are no longer awful, Wednesdays aren’t ‘Hump day’, Fridays aren’t ‘We made it team’ days. I prefer a it now, days are just days, they don’t have some prescribed meaning. 

I primped the flat this morning, and then went to meet a friend. I don’t feel right talking about our morning, all I’ll say is ADHD is real, and should be treated as such. 

We went for a drink in a Wetherspoons after whatever the morning was, it was needed. 

The prodigal husband returns 

My husband came to meet me in town when he got back from the Stag do. We went to a bar to get lunch. Their chef was ill, the kitchen was closed, we had half a drink, no lunch.

We got a taxi home and I made us cheese toasties for lunch. Aren’t cheese toasties great? Of course they are, no one could possibly disagree.

I’m really happy he’s home. I never used to mind my husband being away so much, now I miss him more than I did before. It’s not that I didn’t miss him, I just needed ‘me time’ in a different way. I don’t need that now. 

We fell in love on our fifth date. There’s never a day I don’t feel lucky to have a husband who’s also my best friend. I dated a lot before we met, I’d had countless partners and more trysts than I can remember. Sorry mum if you’re reading this. 

When we got together I knew who I was, and he knew who he was. If we’d have met in our twenties we’d have slept together, but we met in our thirties and have a life together. I think I’m the lucky one. And I think he thinks he’s the lucky one. I’m a pain in the arse, I’m definitely the lucky one. 

Love’s interesting, infuriating, comforting and imperfect. I don’t regret the relationships I’ve had. I know what I won’t accept, what I will, and what brings out the best, and worst, in me. My husband brings out the best. 

A normal evening 

My husband played on the playstation, l watched angsty music on YouTube. It’s a normal evening. 

I made chicken breast with a white wine and cream sauce, with mashed sweet potatoes, served with black pepper and lemon broccoli. The smoke detector went off when I was dry frying the chicken, I assumed I’d taken the batteries out when we moved in, it’s never gone off before. 

We snuggled together on the sofa. I’m the lucky one. 

The Trad Wife round up:

Hours spent cooking and cleaning: 3
Day of the week: Who cares
Trysts: I’d prefer not to say
Love: My husband, and best friend

Clean a bit, rest a bit 

It’s the half way mark, and I’ve got the day to myself. 

My husband is due back from the Stag do tomorrow lunchtime and I want to make sure he walks into a warm and welcoming home. 

In my former life, I really struggled to get my head into cleaning. To manage it, I used to do five minutes cleaning at the top and bottom of every hour, then chill for the other 25 minutes. It worked for me, and I got things done, albeit not quickly.

I decided to do something similar today. From 10am this morning, I did 20 minutes on, 20 minutes off for the whole day, and attacked the flat room by room. I stopped at about 8pm. For once, I decided not to listen to music or have the TV on in the background, I just cleaned and reflected, then chilled, then cleaned and reflected again. 

Once it was all done, I sat on the bed and thought about what’s gone well, what hasn’t, and what I’ve learned.

Failing this week’s goals

I set myself four goals last week, and I’m going to have to rate myself an F, maybe even a U. 

• Do some ironing – fail
• Sort the kitchen cupboards – fail
• 1950s look and cocktail at the door – fail 
• Yoga every day – fail, well I managed the first day

I’m not going to get down on myself for this. I did a lot of things this week, it just wasn’t these specific things. The only person holding me to account for this is me, and I think I deserve a do-over. I still like these goals, so I’m rolling them over to next week. 

Hopes and fears revisited

On my first blog I noted my hopes and fears for the experiment.

These were my fears: Losing a sense of self, changing a good marriage dynamic, getting bored…really really bored. 

None of these fears have been realised. Actually, quite the opposite. I haven’t lost any sense of self. This has actually let me know myself better. I’ve had time and space to really think about and disect why I do things, why I think things, and move towards finding out who I am. 

My marriage is as strong as ever. My fear here may have actually flipped. I’m now worried it’s been too much of a positive thing for our relationship. Having a wife who isn’t stressed, really listens to you, and makes a lovely home might be something that a lot of people want. I’m understanding this way of life more and more, there are a lot of positives. 

And I’m not bored. Not one bit. Sure, some tasks are monotonous, but that’s no different than some tasks at work. Currently, I don’t miss my job. I did love it, and I loved the people I worked with. I don’t know what I’ll do next, I’m still lost there, but it’s still a good lost. 

Onto my hopes, these were: Learn more about myself, challenge my biases, eat good food.

I probably don’t need to touch on the good food one. I just need to add some recipes and this could be a food blog. I did worry I’d lose my love of cooking, I haven’t. 

And boy have I learned more about myself and challenged my biases. Every day I’m learning something new, sometimes big, sometimes small. Today I learned that even if I fail every task I’ve put in front of me I don’t need to make myself feel bad. That’s a good thing to have learned. 

My biases are truly being challenged. I saw myself as a career woman, I didn’t know what would make anyone want to be a Trad Wife. I was probably judgemental, even if I didn’t say it out loud. To be more honest, I was judgemental, and have made negative comments. I’m not proud of this. But walking in someone else’s shoes, I’m seeing things differently. It’s hard to look at yourself and realise how judgemental you can be. But I’ve had the chance to step back and challenge myself. This is not anti-feminist, it’s a choice. 

I’m looking forward to the next few weeks, and I want to move from just ‘playing’ at being a Trad Wife, to leaning more into it in a real way. 

The Trad Wife round up:

Windows cleaned: 12
Marriage rating: 9.6/10 (have to leave a little space to grow)
Biases: Truly challenged
Dinner: A store-bought pizza (please don’t judge me!)

Hopefully I have more to say today 

We’ve had unrelenting rainstorms since 2am. Being on the top floor and underneath a flat roof, it is loud. Really loud. Our roof is also the local hang-out spot for magpies, so as soon as the rain stopped hammering down, the magpies started their morning laps. I gave up trying to get back to sleep at 6:30 and grabbed my morning can of Monster. 

Usually, I still know what day of the week it is, today I did not clock that it was Saturday, until shockingly late. My husband is away on a ‘Stag do’ all weekend, and me and my mum were going to see my grandma for a few hours in the morning. This could have been any day for me now, so I won’t blame myself for losing track of the days. 

I seem to be relatively perky for someone who’s somewhat sleep deprived. I mentioned to my mum in the car that I think it’s because I can now make time for naps. She added that it’s also about having the brain space to use time how you want to. Taking the time to see family is now not something I try to ‘slot in’, like a block in an Outlook calendar, it’s now just something I want to do, and can. There’s a lot around family values and connections as part of being a Trad Wife, this isn’t something I’ve actively tried to do, it’s just that’s what I’ve unconsciously chosen to do with my time. It’s definitely a good thing. 

We pulled up outside my grandma’s flat. When I was a bit younger I would always try and get all my swears out before going for a visit, these days I don’t. I now know there’s almost nothing I could say to shock my grandma. She reads my blog, so grandma, you’re fucking great! 

A little meta

When we got to my grandma’s she asked about my blog from yesterday, and with our 51 year age gap she didn’t know any of the songs I’d been listening to. My mum has started listening to The Wonder Years now, definitely a step up from Abba and Genesis. She once took me to see a Genesis cover band, it was the second worst concert I’ve ever been to, the worst was Oasis. 

Apologies in advance for going a bit meta here. Both my husband and my mum, read yesterday’s blog and were worried I was sad. I wasn’t. But on a re-read I can definitely see it coming through. I didn’t mention that I was dancing to the angsty music, I didn’t mention how happy I was that my husband ate the whole lemon drizzle cake during his drive to meet his friends at the stag do, and I didn’t mention that my feeling lost is not something I see as negative, it’s just where I am.

Being lost doesn’t mean to me being hopeless, anxious or under a dark cloud. For me, it’s a state of personal discovery and reflection, it’s sometimes nice to be lost, as you’re finding your own way, and making new paths. 

I’m more aware now than I was at the start of this experiment of how much of myself that my friends and family are seeing. And it’s not just the words, or the tone, it’s also what I’m leaving out. Yesterday, I left out all the good things, they were still there, I just hadn’t written about them. 

Garden centre cafes are poorly organised

I suggested heading out to a garden centre for a walk round, a nice activity, whether you’re 89, 67 or 38. 

We went to the coffee shop to have some breakfast and a coffee. They had a ‘Scone of the day’ we were all drawn to it, I never eat breakfast but couldn’t resist the call of an Indian spiced baked good with a side of tamarind mango chutney. We picked up one each, then had to enter a separate queue for coffees. 

We waited for 16 minutes for two Americanos. There was one man, with one coffee machine, and we were behind 8 Cappuccinos. I had to keep slapping my own hand back from just shoving the scone in my mouth. 

We then had to join a different queue to pay: food queue, coffee queue, payment queue. That cannot be the best way to set up a coffee shop. It was at this point I clocked that it was Saturday, and my mum noticed that I was the youngest person in the cafe by 20 years. With my fresh skin from the chemical peel and spending more time with retired people, I probably feel younger than I have in years. 

We had a lovely chat over breakfast, and wandered round the garden centre. No plants were purchased, but we came out with some crackers, some jalapeno crisps and some rhubarb and custard boiled sweets. 

We dropped my grandma back, then on the way home stopped by our favourite dive bar and then had a wander round M&S. 

I went home and napped. 

Why do I cook and clean? 

I decided not to do any big cooking or cleaning today, there’s no point, my husband is away. I’m not sure whether that’s the right view, and made me consider why I don’t do these things just for me. I don’t think there’s any element of not feeling worthy, I think it’s just that I choose to use the time I have differently when I’ve got space to myself.

Today I chose to use my time to play The Sims for a few hours while watching a documentary about Jeffrey Dahmer. I am happy with this choice.

The Trad Wife round up:

Hours spent cooking and cleaning: 0.5
Rhubarb and Custard boiled sweets eaten: 6
My Sim’s current job: Actor (I don’t think I’m going to follow her footsteps)
Feeling: Lost, but in a good way

I have nothing to say today. My oven was fixed, I made my husband a cake, I cleaned the bathroom. None of this is interesting. I could try and make it interesting by writing something about how baking for my husband makes me feel useful. Often it does, today it doesn’t. 

Frankly, I’m still lost. 

It was a nice day. I did nice things. I went out for lunch, I chatted, I saw friends, and I ate chips. Chips are always good.

Rather than my usual diary, I’ll share some songs I’ve listened to today. 

Wonder Years: Local man ruins everything

It’s not about forcing happiness, it’s a about not letting sadness win.

Hot Mulligan: SPS

There’s a difference between saying you’re trying and doing anything.

Blink 182: Dammit

A day late, a buck short, I’m writing the report. On losing and failing, when I move, I’m flailing now. 

Counting Crows: Round here

The girl on the car in the parking lot, says “Man you  try and take a shot, can’t you see my walls are crumbling?”

Hopefully, I’ll have something of interest tomorrow. But for today, I’ll continue to listen to sad music on YouTube, drink prosecco and eat crisps. 

The Trad Wife round up:

Hours listening to music on Spotify: 5 (so far)
Oven: It works, finally!
Blinks: 182
Cheese straws made: 45

It started so hopefully

I’ll start by being honest, I’ve been a bit of a crap Trad Wife today. 

The day started as usual, I kissed my husband goodbye at the door, cleaned the kitchen, and pottered a bit. Then, the oven repair man came round and diagnosed the issue, he’ll be back tomorrow between 9am and 1pm to fix the damn thing. I’m looking forward to being able to bake again, it’s something I’m good at and always seems useful. It’s a nice to feel useful. 

I was meeting an old friend, Sarah, and her rambunctious two year old for lunch, a walk, and soft play. I got up and ready to go, making sure I had plenty of factor 50 on my face to protect my post chemical peel skin. I do look brighter and healthier, so I’ll probably book another one in. I guess I am that sort of person, whatever that means.

I put on my headphones and headed out the door. 

Bus journey one

I got to the bus stop, and it was just me and an elderly gent waiting for the bus. 

As the bus pulled in, I smiled at the man, gestured to the bus and said “After you.” He said “No after you, I insist!” It was a nice exchange. I stepped onto the bus said “Good morning” to the driver and started to walk to the back. Pretty normal stuff. 

A man on one of the front seats looked at me with a distainful look. He then made sure he said loudly enough for everyone around him to hear “You could have let him on first couldn’t you!”. I politely told him I in fact did offer and the older gent insisted. He looked embarrassed and mumbled an apology, I went and sat down. 

I was somewhat taken aback by this exchange. Is it what I was wearing? I could be considered to dress slightly alternatively. Was it that I had headphones on? Maybe that’s a sign of a ‘bad’ youth, although I don’t think I pass as a ‘youth’ anymore. Do I just look like a rude person? I really hope that’s not the case.

More than likely, it’s that this man assumes the worst in people. I hope I never get to be like that. I believe that most people are good, we’re all just humans doing our best, in a world that is at times, to put it lightly, a little fucked. I truly feel sorry for people like this man, it must make you miserable. 

I got off the bus and headed up to the quay to meet my friend for lunch. 

Soft play is fun, even at 38

We had a lovely lunch of quiche and salad and caught up, between amusing the toddler by naming everything in the cafe. Yes, that’s a chair! We had a glass of wine and chatted some more. Yes, that’s a croissant, well done! We paid up and left. Yes, that’s a doggy! No, we don’t get on all fours and pretend to be a doggy. 

We had a lovely walk along the quay and down to a park with a soft play. Yes! That’s a duck. What noise do ducks make? “Quack quack!” We got to the soft play and got our shoes off and chased a toddler for two hours. I got to go down all the slides, it was fun. Well done! That’s a yellow ball. My husband and I don’t want children, but I would borrow one on occasion if it means I can go down the slides. Yes! It is loud and full of big kids. 

I finished my can of Sprite and headed for the bus back home. 

Bus journey two 

I got on the bus. I didn’t check the number, just that it was going to the right place. I appeared to have accidentally got on the holiday-makers scenic route bus that stopped at every beach and tourist hotspot. I didn’t mind. I had my music, and seeing the sea makes me smile.

No altercations on this journey, just nice people getting from A to B. 

A crap Trad Wife

I’d stayed out longer than planned and got back home after my husband. No kiss at the door. I also hadn’t finished the cleaning before I left this morning, so he came back to bags of rubbish by the door and an unmade bed. This is what every day used to be like. 

I then faffed around looking for my bank card that had dropped out of my pocket. Not being cheery and pleasant and listening to my husband about his day. Instead, throwing around the sheets on the bed, pulling cardboard out of the bin and being a touch irritated. It has fallen out by the front door when I’d taken my keys out. This is also what every day used to be like. 

I started doing some mild primping of the flat, but it’s not in the pristine state we’re now used to. I could have done the cleaning and washing, but I didn’t. I decided to chill out instead. I’ve got a lot of respect for people who can keep a perfect home, it’s work, it’s unpaid work, but it’s definitely work. 

I made the dinner of a chicken Caesar sandwich with some lightly salted Kettle Chips. I really can’t wait to have my oven back. 

I had a nice day, but it was like a day off work doing what I wanted to, call it a ‘Rachel day’ not a Trad Wife day. I think the occasional one of those is fine. 

The Trad Wife round up:

Personal Trad Wife rating: 3/10
Oven: Still not fixed, it really should be tomorrow
Noises ducks make: quack, quack
Glasses of Sauvignon: 2 (there was also a prosecco)

I forgot the yoga again

I didn’t do my planned yoga last night. And I forgot again this morning. I loved it the one day I succeeded in this aim, so I don’t know why I didn’t do it. Maybe I’m lazy? I can’t possibly use the excuse of being too busy anymore. I think I’m going to have to postpone this aim a week so I have some chance of achieving it. 

Other than the yoga failure, it was a good morning. Saw my mum, saw my grandma, ate some chips, drank a Sauvignon, went to M&S.

No time for a nap today, I had to get the cleaning done and start on the cooking before my husband got home. My face is feeling a bit tight following the chemical peel yesterday so I covered it in Aquaphor. It helped. 

A block of flats 

Even though I used to work from home, I wasn’t aware of everything around me. We live in a block of five flats, our place is the penthouse – but in name only. It’s the top floor and has two terraces, but probably hasn’t had any work done on it in many years, probably over a decade, we rent. Paint chips off from the walls, the doors are wonky and no matter what I do the kitchen and bathroom will never be clean ‘enough’. 

I can now tell the neighbour’s routines from the noise of their cars, closing of their doors and when they take their rubbish out. 

Flat 4 has a mo-ped, and doesn’t seem to leave at the same time every day. He just comes and goes at random. He’s a pleasant older man, I sometimes scare him with too energetic a “Good Morning” when I see him on the stairs. 

Flat 3 is like clockwork, he has a louder car and I know when he leaves for work, when he picks up his kid from school, and when he takes his kid back to his mum’s in the evening. He plays the same song on repeat in the evenings, me and my husband are unsure why. He might have a new partner, the music is muffling.

Flat 2 are an enigma. They’re a youngish couple. They seem nice. They’re not overly friendly, but Brittishly polite. 

Flat 1, although I know their names, I just refer to as ‘Loud cat’s’ parents. They have a very vocal cat. She’s a good cat. I’ve learned recently that she often gets stuck in the stairwell, as she runs in when someone is going out. Flat 1 are also the only other people who bring the big bins back from the curb to the bin storage. I like flat 1.

Yet another pleasant evening

The oven man is due tomorrow morning, so it’s another oven-less dinner. 

I asked my husband what he wanted, and he asked for fresh pasta. Second day in the row of a nice easy meal. Eggs and 00 flour to make the pasta, then white wine, mushrooms, bacon and cream for the sauce, and topped with a butterflied chicken breast and parmesan. I still haven’t lost my love of cooking. I was worried I would, so this is a very good thing. 

We, of course, had another lovely evening together on the sofa, complimented by pasta and an episode of Black Mirror, Plaything. It’s a good episode, a bizarre tale that makes the point not to devalue any life. 

The Trad Wife round up:

Husband’s rating of dinner: 9.8/10 (I lost 0.2 as the portion was too big)
Oven: Still not fixed, maybe tomorrow?
Loud cat: vocal
Yoga goal: failed, and postponed to next week

Is it vanity? 

Today’s the day of my chemical peel. I made the mistake last night of looking up all the things that can go wrong, and also what the recovery can look like. Quite possibly in a couple of days my skin will start flaking off in massive pieces like a victim of some infectious disease. 

It seems I’m someone who’s willing to pay the equivalent of a seven hour shift at minimum wage in the hope of possibly looking fresher and brighter. It could be that it really works, and makes me more confident, maybe that would be worth it? I don’t know. I’m still reflecting a lot on my spending habits, I’m not sure if I feel guilty, lucky or both. 

My appointment is booked in at 9:15, so I decided to just chill in the morning before it was time to leave. I had a shower and put on some grey leggings, an oversized sweater and Nikes. That seems like the right outfit for a Trad Wife out for a beauty treatment. 

At the salon

I walked down to the salon listening to some Counting Crows on the short walk, it’s only two songs away from home. 

When I turned up it was nice and welcoming, but not an environment I am comfortable in. The aesthetician took me down to a treatment room, and assured me that it is very unlikely that my skin would flake off with the new products and techniques they now use. I was a little disappointed, as it might have been nice to experience life as a lizard. 

As I had various creams, cloths and later acids applied to my face, we chatted. She asked “So what is it you do for work?” It’s a normal question, but it still feels like a gut punch, “At the moment, nothing” was my response. I did expand further than I’d been made redundant. Like most people, she said “Oh, I’m sorry.” It made me think, do I feel sorry about this? Am I sad? And honestly, I don’t think I am. I had been stressed for a year. Now, I’m not. 

The peel wasn’t at all bad. Warm and prickly. But I left the salon with skin that felt tighter, smoother and only a touch tomato coloured. It’s meant to keep doing things for the next few days. I’ll keep you posted, maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow looking ten years younger. 

Two Pixies songs took me back home, dropping into Tesco on the way for ingredients for Thai curry tonight. No oven needed. 

Back at home

I got through all the cleaning, albeit a bit slower than usual. I’m not meant to overexert myself to the point of sweating today, or be outside in the sun. Vampire rules. I realised I hadn’t done my planned yoga before I went out this morning, I’ll have to do gentle sweat free stretching once the weather cools down this evening. 

I chilled out on the sofa for a while, watching yet another murder documentary and drinking yet another glass of prosecco.

My husband came home, I kissed him at the door. He carefully inspected my face and said it did indeed look fresher. Maybe it was worth it? Maybe I’ll book them monthly? But if I keep doing it, it should be for me. But what that means I have no idea. 

I made the Thai green curry for dinner with chicken, baby corn and mange tout, served with some prawn crackers for all important dipping. It’s a very easy dinner, rather than my usual high effort meals. But my oven is still broken, and I’m waiting for a call back from the company who are going to come and take a look. Hopefully they’ll come tomorrow. 

We sat down to eat dinner in front of an episode of Black Mirror, I like a reminder that the world is fucked through futuristic tellings on subscription services. However, it’s been another pleasant day.

The Trad Wife round up:

Face peel verdict: So far, so good
Oven: Still not fixed
What do I do for work? At the moment, nothing
Prawn crackers dipped: 20+

Namaste

I didn’t kiss my husband at the door this morning when he left for work. He was out the door before 5am and I just couldn’t force myself out of bed. I wish I had, he’s away for the next two days. 

When I did wake at 6:30, I had my predictable can of Monster and a scroll through Reddit. I’d set myself the goal of doing yoga every day this week, so I found a wake-up yoga video on YouTube to follow. My body can still do it. I still like it. At nearly 40 my body doesn’t do everything it did at 20, but I’m glad it can still do this. 

I sat for a while and considered what I wanted to achieve today. I have no oven, and my husband is away, that’s two of my main Trad Wife staples gone. There will be things I can do though, I’ll play today by ear. 

Everyday cleaning tips

The last part of the oven I had left to clean was the glass door. The fancy store bought cleaners aren’t making enough of a dent. So I’ve started looking up some DIY housewife ‘hacks’. The answer seems to be making a paste with bicarbonate of soda, I made the paste, left it on there and looked up some other ‘hacks’. 

My coffee table is covered in water marks and unknown stains. Many good nights of food, drink and Mario Kart have taken their toll. Or, more likely, caused by stress drinking wine after a hard day at work. I probably used to drink too much, the probably can be dropped here if I’m being honest. I still enjoy a glass of wine or two, but it’s not a coping mechanism for stress anymore. 

The top tip for my water marked table seems to be mayonnaise. It makes scientific sense, the high oil content is meant to pull out the water. The table is now smothered in mayo and covered in bits of kitchen roll. I have to leave it there for several hours so I’ll check out the results this afternoon. 

What other cleaning ‘hacks’ are out there? One I’m already aware of and works well is vinegar for making your pots, pans and kettles sparkle. So I’ll pick up some when I’m out this afternoon. 

I head out for a drink and wander with my mum. I see my mum a lot now. I did when I worked too, but more now. She grounds me in the best way, and I often need grounding. 

Intermezzo

Back at home after seeing my mum I sat on a deck chair on my balcony, ate a bag of popcorn and listened to some Hot Mulligan. 

I used to sit in my deckchair between meetings or over a lunch break. I still enjoy it, just for different reasons now. 

Cleaning act 2 

The bicarb paste on the glass has worked pretty well. I scrubbed off most of the grease and restarted the process. I’m strangely excited to be able to see through the glass and into my oven, even if my oven still doesn’t work. 

The mayonnaise on the wood table however, has made it worse than it was before. The stains may have gone, I’m unsure, it’s hard to tell under the far bigger oil stain on top of it. At this stage I’m between covering the whole table in mayo so it’s even, or buying some paint and making it a statement colour. 

I have vinegar now though, and that is tried and tested. I head to the kitchen and make my pans and kettle sparkle. 

An oven-less dinner 

I tried today, I didn’t succeed at everything, but I tried. 

Without an oven, I treated myself to an evening eating ham, coleslaw and bread and watching various documentaries. 

I still feel lost. I do things every day, I’m keeping distracted, but at the back of my mind the voice is still there asking “What’s next?”.

The Trad Wife round up:

Coffee tables ruined: 124
Pots and pans made sparkling clean: 3 55
Hours listening to Spotify while cleaning: 4
Mayonnaise: Now only used for dipping purposes

On Reddit and feminism 

My day started with feminist musings before 7am. 

Most days I have a scroll through Reddit over my morning can of Monster. I still haven’t given up that habit, not sure if I ever will. The first post that came up on my feed was on the ‘tradwives’ forum, where the poster claimed that: A) a Trad Wife lifestyle isn’t real and B) it is anti-feminist. 

I’ll address point A first. Statistically what this person is saying is absolutely incorrect. Of course, there have always been women in the workplace, no one would dispute that, but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t more women than men who do unpaid work at home. In the UK, even when both parties in the couple work, on average women do 60% more of the housework and childcare. I totally understand why some women chose the Trad Wife lifestyle, these women are working, the work is just unpaid and often invisible. 

Onto point B. Over the last couple of weeks my views on feminism and how it fits in a Trad Wife relationship have started to clarify. And I am firmly in the belief that these two things can live side by side. The person being anti-feminist is not the Trad Wife, the person being anti-feminist is the person who judges women for making this choice. Feminism is about equity and equality, you do not need to fit a certain mould to be a feminist, just as you don’t need to fit a certain mould to be a Trad Wife. 

So to the person who posted this, I would ask “Isn’t it anti-feminist to judge women based on their choices?” 

The oven 

I tried again, with no luck, to fix my broken oven. If I can’t fix it, at least I can clean it. Anyone would judge me if they saw the baked on grease. I definitely judge myself for it. I pulled out the trays, unscrewed the glass of the door, and covered the lot in the strongest oven cleaner imaginable. My advice to anyone, is not to let the corrosive materials from those boxed oven cleaners get into an open burn on your hand. I washed my hands and covered the burn in germolene. 

With the noxious chemicals and lack of oven, making a Sunday roast as planned is a challenge I’m not ready for. So, my husband and I went out for lunch. Chicken wings, charred garlic bread, mac and cheese bites and buttered corn on the cob will have to do. Pair it with a Sauvignon blanc, peach iced tea and discussions around how to fix UK politics and it’s perfect.

We went back home, and following yesterday’s failure of a nap, today I’ve decided to nap in the bedroom with the curtains closed and door shut to muffle my husband shouting at his Xbox.

It was a good nap. It was actually a great nap.

Achievements and goals

After scrubbing the oven to a state I’m not embarrassed to get someone over to fix it, I sat and thought about whether I’d met the goals I set myself last week. I’m awarding myself a passing grade, but not a distinction. 

• I organised half of my clothes and have a big bag to take to the charity shop next week. 
• My name is now updated on three different accounts from my maiden to married name. 
• I may not have had a beauty treatment this week, but I had a consultation and booked one in for next week. 
• And of course, I finally cleaned the oven. At least it’s cleaner than it was before. I’ll call out someone to fix it tomorrow.

I now feel I should be setting myself goals every Sunday. So here are mine for next week:

With all the good eating, I have put on weight since the experiment started. I don’t want to start calorie counting or getting obsessed with numbers again. In a healthier approach, I’m going to do yoga every day for a week. I used to love yoga when I was in my twenties, so hopefully I still will. 

One day I’m going to go full 1950s and meet my husband at the door in a dress, heels with a cocktail in hand. Caveated with, I don’t believe this is all being a Trad Wife is, but it’ll be fun, and that’s a good enough reason to do it. My husband doesn’t drink, so I’ll need to master non-alcoholic cocktails.

I’m going to tackle sorting one of the worst organised parts of the flat. My kitchen cupboards. They overflow so much that on Friday night a pile of plates fell from a top cupboard, landed on my glass of wine and shattered both glass and wine everywhere. I’m not looking forward to this, but it needs doing. 

Finally, I’m going to iron. I don’t iron anything. My ironing board was last used to hold my tomato plants I was growing a couple of summers ago. I may not iron everything, but I’m going to iron at least something. 

I’m two weeks in, I don’t hate it, my husband doesn’t hate it. We might even like it. But it’s still a novelty not normality. 

The Trad Wife round up:

Hours scrolling Reddit: 124
Chicken wings eaten: 5 55
Oven: Still broken and slightly cleaner
Feminist views: Not changed by the Trad Wife experiment