The Angel in the House

A few years ago one of my college roommates and I were catching up over email, and in response to my question about her well-being she wrote something like this:  “I feel as good as my husband and children feel.  If they’re unhappy, then I’m unhappy.”

“What are you?” I wrote back, “The angel in the house?”

Because that’s not how it works in my family.  If I’m unhappy, then everyone’s unhappy.  And everyone’s been fairly miserable for quite some time.

But that’s all about to change.  You see, I’m hiring a staff.

That sounds pretentious, doesn’t it?  And potentially boring, too.  Because I’ve already written about hiring a housekeeper and hiring a sitter and right now you’re thinking that perhaps the angry mother who commented on my blog may have been right.  Maybe I am pretentious and boring.

But maybe I’m also on to something.  So you better keep reading.

A week ago Sunday I woke up to rain.  And my very first thought was yay, and my second thought was those poor kids.

Those poor kids go to The Boy’s school, and their birthday party had been cancelled the previous week because of rain.  Now it was raining again, on the same day for which the party had been rescheduled.

But while I felt terrible for these children and their parents I was also secretly pleased, because I had so very much to do.  And I got so caught up in accomplishing all of these little tasks that I realized an hour before the party was supposed to start late that afternoon that I’d never received a call informing me of its cancellation.

Surely they won’t have the party in the rain? I said to my husband as I picked up the phone.

But the party was indeed going to take place despite the inclement weather because the parents–understandably–didn’t have the heart to tell their children two weeks in a row that their birthday party was cancelled.

What they’d failed to consider, of course, was how this might impact me.

You see, I hadn’t bathed.  In a while, actually.  In fact, I was still wearing the same clothes I’d worn to Nia the previous morning because my husband had been out of town for six trillion days and I hadn’t had a chance to do laundry.  And The Boy was with his Nana and I had to pick him up before we could go to the party and that meant I didn’t have time to shower.  And the laundry still wasn’t done and my brother’s lovely, fashionable girlfriend, who used to host one of those shows where people are accosted on the street and invited to be made over, actually laughed when she saw the inside of my closet.  So it’s not like I had anything else to change into anyway.

And so my husband, who’d worked maybe 12 days straight and had been home for maybe 5 or 6 hours had to listen to the mini-tantrum I threw as I brushed my teeth and put on my tattered gray sweatshirt and cried.  And because he’s a nice man he offered to take The Boy to the birthday party for me.  But I couldn’t let him do that because my husband hates children’s birthday parties above all things and I consider it a minor miracle that he came to his own son’s party last month.

So instead I screamed and threw a few things and left.

The birthday party was dismal but the children didn’t care.  They were perfectly happy to be out in the cold rain because they were being plugged with hot chocolate and cake.  And the parents who’d attended–mostly dads, I noticed with the tiniest bit of resentment–huddled close together for warmth.

And then I saw Samantha.

Samantha has a daughter in The Boy’s class and another little girl who’s two.  Samantha’s hair was pulled neatly away from her face.  She was wearing a raincoat and boots, which suggested that she had both the time and energy to shop for these and other items.  She looked relaxed and rested and happy.

She looked showered.

And so even though I’d never really talked much to Samantha, I found myself edging closer.  And five minutes later I discovered her secret.

Samantha has a staff.

Now, hiring a staff costs money that I don’t necessarily have.  But I’m so excited by the notion of having someone else vacuum up the dog fur and run to the store that I’m willing to cut things out.  Food, for example.  I could afford to slough off a few pounds.  Or television, though the backlash from The Boy might be considerable.  Or maybe we could go forego Christmas gifts this year.  That makes sense, actually, since purchasing the gifts just creates more work for me.

Do you think The Boy might be willing to sacrifice his presents in favor of his mother’s sanity?

We’re going to find out.  Because Maria’s coming tonight at 6 for an interview.  I got her name from a friend of a friend.  And guess how this friend of a friend described her?

As the angel in the house.

Well, someone’s gotta be.

Copyright © 2009  Jennifer Hritz  hritzontheedge  All Rights Reserved