The Bitch in the House

Of the books that I've read over the past few years, this one has probably had the most profound effect on my life thus far:

I read it first after I bought it last summer, discounted at McNally Robinson like most books I buy. When I read it again last month, it made even more sense, after having lived that much more of my life since then.

The title is a take-off on The Angel in the House, as defined by Virginia Woolf and quoted at the beginning of Bitch:

I will describe her as shortly as I can. She was intensely sympathetic. She was immensely charming. She was utterly unselfish. She excelled in the difficult arts of family life. She sacrificed herself daily. If there was chicken, she took the leg; if there was a draught she sat in it—in short she was so constituted that she never had a mind or a wish of her own, but preferred to sympathize always with the minds and wishes of others.

Interestingly, hidden among my other childhood classics is the novel briefly mentioned in the angel wiki article (What Katy Did).

Despite the lives of the authors of these essays being vastly different, from each other and from my own, I recognize the domestic rage that comes with trying balancing it all - husband, career, kids - and not wanting to, though having to, sacrifice any for the other. I recognize it looming in myself even though my wedding won't take place for a few months, my career is in its beginnings, and kids, well, I'm still learning to take care of myself.

I see a lot of myself in essays such as "Attila the Honey I'm Home" (Kristin van Ogtrop), though I don't have kids or their hectic careers yet. I can be perfectly pleasant and witty at work and out with friends, but coming home to the combination of a stack of dishes, and a certain someone playing nintendo oblivious to the fact, quickly turns me into the witch in the apartment.

And though I grew up with a stay-at-home mom, or perhaps because of it, I grew up thinking that when I moved out and into the family/career combo, things would be significantly different, though I was never sure how. This was really naive thinking on my part, because really, how different could it be? Even though I strive for my partner and I to equally split the mundane household chores required for upkeep, splitting still means I have to do my half. Refusing to do so, and allowing my partner to cook all our meals* as I have doesn't make me a feminist, it makes me lazy.

*I say allow, but really, I'd probably kill us and/or we'd live off scrambled eggs if I took over, even in part.