“Imagine what it would be like if we had chickens right now,” my husband says as we wait by the sliding glass door for our poodle to do his business in the backyard.
The chilly night air cuts right through my bathrobe. All I want to do is go to bed. But first I have to put on my rubber boots and tromp into the dark unknown to retrieve Merlin, who is famous for his midnight wanders.
“You were right,” I holler at my husband from the patio, “raising chickens would have been a bad idea.” I pick up Merlin and get wet dog all over me.
My husband stands ready with a towel as I enter the house. “Merlin’s annoying,” he says, as he dries of the dog’s paws, “but he never gets an egg stuck up his butt.”
“Yuck! You don’t have to be so graphic.”
“Everything about chickens is graphic.” My husband closes the sliding-glass door. “Poop. Rats. Butchering.”
“But the eggs!” I sigh and put Merlin down on the floor. “Wouldn’t it be lovely to have fresh eggs for breakfast?”
“Buy the pasture-raised ones at the store instead.” He herds Merlin upstairs to deposit in our son’s room before going to bed.
I wish I could be as practical as my spouse, but for me, hope springs eternal — especially when dealing with the latest homemaking trends. Backyard farming. Instant-Pots. Robotic vacuum cleaners. Baking soda miracles. Convert me, Pinterest, I pledge my faith to you.
Alone in the kitchen, I turn on the dishwasher and wipe down the counters, so we don’t wake up to a mess. Our stainless-steel appliances are smudged with fingerprints. Our granite counters have spots from where the stone wasn’t properly sealed.
As I tidy up, I think of homemaking trends from previous generations. I bet avocado-green refrigerators didn’t look like a toddler had French kissed them. Nobody freaked out about lemon juice splattered on Corian. Kitchen styles from the 1980s and 1990s look pretty smart right now.
Except for trash compactors. Those still seem weird.
The last thing I do before I call it a night is hang a fresh dishtowel by the window next to the kitchen sink. I peer through the glass into pitch black. Darkness hides the daffodils, hyacinths and tulips poking up in my garden. If I did have a chicken coop, that’s where I would put it, alongside my flower garden where it was easy to collect eggs.
But my husband’s right: I don’t need chickens because creating more work for myself is a bad idea. I flick off the kitchen light, finally ready to go to bed. I just need to start a load in the dryer first.
Homemaking trends may come and go, but one thing is certain: There will always be women like me tidying up the house at 11:30 p.m.
Forget chickens. What mothers need is a good night’s sleep.
Jennifer Bardsley is author of the books “Genesis Girl” and “Damaged Goods.” Find her online on Instagram @the_ya_gal, on Twitter @jennbardsley or on Facebook as The YA Gal.
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