Trad wives and tidying over the holidays

Or how watching domestic admin is not the same as doing it

I’ve been getting slightly obsessed with the whole ‘trad wife’ thing. I haven’t read all the latest commentary so excuse me if I’m naive. Of course I know they’re controversial and for Gen X feminists, unnerving in many ways, but I find watching their videos soothing.

It’s no secret that women often use cleaning and tidying to ‘clear’ their mental chatter. It sometimes helps clear some of mine too.

The soft classical/ambient soundtrack playing in the background and the female narrators sounding as if they have taken a fistful of opiates. Everything is in order. They don’t have pans of water boiling over whilst they try and clean half cooked scrambled egg off of the kitchen carpet. All their appliances are sleek and fully operational so they don’t have to close the dishwasher, and at the same time hold the wooden plank underneath steady with their foot so it doesn’t fall off again exposing 100 years of unswept crumbs (we have kitchen cupboards that need a make over are not a priority right now).

If I was ONLY looking after my husband and children I could make a go of this lifestyle for a few months. I wouldn’t be very good at it. I am not thorough enough. I don’t have the right equipment either. I only recently bought a mop because each time I look at cleaning implements I tell myself they’re a luxury - I can bend over and clean that floor just as easy. I also anger quickly when I’m cleaning. It starts off with me feeling calm about the mess I’m confronted with (sometimes) and then it quickly grows into resentment. Why me? Why me? Why me? Then I think of the other things I could be doing and my desire to be productive creates a riot of conflicting needs in my brain.

But I am also trying to work/write/pivot/look after the kids/exercise/have some sort of friendship with a few people, and so cleaning doesn’t come up high on my list. My tactic is to get it done (rather than perfect) and move onto the next (hopefully more rewarding/interesting) thing.

On holiday the tidying hasn’t abated. If anything it has become more of a need than ever. The cottage we are staying in is lovely and looks like the kind of place that is tidy rather than the tipping point we’ve reached which is permanent chaos (cupboards that overflow with kids stuff). On this break for some reason I keep finding pants in different rooms. As if people have just spontaneously decided to be naked and flung their pants across the room. My youngest likes to throw her clothes in the air when she takes them off so they land on random objects. I can sometimes sit down and then spot a pair of pyjama bottoms hanging off the rubber plant.

I can’t rest with this. This is something programmed into many women. I know this because I have discussed it a lot with my friends. WE WILL NOT REST UNTIL THERE IS SOME SEMBLANCE OF ORDER (which is why so many are exhausted all the time because the ‘order’ is unachievable, tidying is relentless with children in particular as they create mess whilst you tidy).

I am finding time to relax but this time is often first thing in the morning (like now writing this piece). This is before anyone has got up and when the house looks tidy because I’ve washed the dishes from the night before, cleaned the worktops and picked up all the pants that have been distributed around the house.

I sometimes like to scroll through some of this trad wife content after I’ve done a quick whip round. It is problematic in many ways, too many for me to go into (Are the women in coercive relationships? Do they choose this life? are they sedated? Or are they perfectly happy to give up so much of themselves for others? Am I out of date because I can’t acknowledge that this might be an active choice for women?)

It is as if these women are cleaning my house for a few moments. Putting everything back in its place. In a world that feels out of our control, so wild and unpredictable, full of sorrow and shock, these women show us that they can impose order onto their homes, their families, and their inner circles. They seem to glide whilst we struggle. Cool versus hot and flustered.

It’s not reality.

Cleaning and tidying and cooking is an endless cycle. It is never complete. It starts anew.

On holidays the only thing you can do is to let some things go. Get to them later. Not let the mess ruin your day (I’m writing this with a balled up sock by the sofa and an abandoned plate covered in something sticky on the floor). My partner does more than most but can usually list the things he does whereas mine are too abundant to remember (many partners will list the chores because they have maybe 4-5 each day whereas women will just keep doing all the things, the list long abandoned as there are no medals to be expected, no glory, no congratulations to be had, it’s just the norm).

I see the trad wife sitting for a moment. Perhaps she has been grimacing for too long and needs to put her feet off. When the camera goes off she will sit and spot a pair of kids underpants in the rubber plant. Pebbles from the beach emptied out of shoes and onto the floor. Toothpaste on the carpet. Her eyes drawn again and again to these imperfections that don’t stop coming. Like waves coming into the shore. Again and again.

Infinite.

‘Damn how did I miss those?’ she’ll curse.

‘Will it never end?’