My mom informs me that being a housewife is more than painting your nails and eating bonbons. She volunteers, takes care of my grandmother, sings in the church choir, and is a full-time law partner. I thought being a housewife meant just baking and singing Frank Sinatra to yourself in the kitchen.
In my efforts to become a good housewife, I once spent an entire summer trying to find the perfect pound cake recipe. There are several. People recommend different wet ingredients: sour cream, butter, Crisco, etc. I have found that sour cream works best. Then there is the almond/lemon decision. Of course vanilla will be an ingredient, but you must choose whether you want your cake to have a nutty or fruity overtone. Or you can make a chocolate pound cake, which resolves these difficulties for you.
This love for baking was born in me, I believe, out of a severe habit of procrastination. At Hillsdale, the night before a paper was due, I would always bake. I perfected Seth Strickland’s bread recipe, venturing out with such additions as honey and chopped fruit. Bread is perfect for studying, or rather, not studying. Add the yeast to the water, and go study while it gets foamy. Add the flour, study a little. Knead a little, write some more. Wait four hours for the bread to rise while you actually get some studying done. Finally, once you have baked the bread to a golden brown, you can offer it to your friends, continuing your strain of avoiding that paper. At least, it worked for me.
Then there’s always impressing the boys. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. I won’t say I didn’t try this on Carl. I definitely made him pound cake before we were dating. And now he makes me Swedish pancakes, so it comes full circle. But really, baking is an important way of showing affection to the men in your life. Although they would probably prefer a mighty-meaty dish, I usually make Carl and his friends scones. Or cookies. Their oven is a little finicky, so sometimes we end up eating cookie dough, but it’s a communal experience nonetheless.
Being a housewife is more than baking. It’s also the crazy soccer-mom adrenalin that you need to keep you going all day. I think Hillsdale has also prepared me for this. I know that balancing Kappa and Chamber Choir and Jitters (and studying) is nothing compared to actually being a mother, but it must contribute some skills of time management — or at least not losing your mind. I may not drive a minivan, but I do enjoy the feverish business of a to-do list.
Furthermore, the perfect housewife always wears pearls. Rain or shine, studying or sleeping, I always strive to wear pearls. I think it gives a professional touch to the grungiest outfit. It also keeps at bay the impending hipster-dom. As long as I have this remnant of the fifties, I cannot fall into the laissez-faire matching of any and all patterns and fabrics garnered from thrift stores and the Women’s Commissioner’s Sale. Pearls are the emblem of the eternal: spherical and white. They add the garnish of peace to an otherwise harried appearance.
Hillsdale has prepared me to be a housewife by teaching me how to maintain outward calm in spite of inward anxiety, how to impress others while at the same time improving yourself, and how to be productive when you procrastinate.