An American Wife in Mongolia: Part I – Providing Nourishment
An American Wife in Mongolia
Part I – Providing Nourishment
Perhaps the title is a bit cliche, a bit over the top, maybe too exotic. Life in Mongolia is not that exotic just because I live in the ancient homeland of Chinggis Khaan. What housewife’s life is exotic? Angelina Jolie, Britney Spears? Do they really qualify as housewives? Do I really qualify as a housewife?
In the USA, I rarely did my own cooking. I guess I shared that luxury with Ms. Pitt and Ms. Federline. In fact, I was nearly as spoiled as they are. I was catered to every day that I found it necessary. I was quite grateful for the establishments that filled my stomach. It meant less time out of my day for preparing meals, less time for cooking, less time for cleaning up. I am eternally grateful to McDonalds, Burger King, Taco Bell, Taco Johns, and Subway. You sustained me in my hungriest moments.
Here in Mongolia, I am always cooking. If I want to eat, I cook. If my husband wants to eat, sometimes he cooks, but mostly, I cook. Last night, a Thursday, I spent three hours cooking. That was just the cooking segment – I’m still dealing with the aftermath, cleanup, twenty-four hours later. Who wants to wash dishes after spending three hours making the mess? It was somewhat lavish to spend that much time in the kitchen. Not a normal situation. On any given night where I actually construct and cook the supper and then follow with clean up, it takes about half that time.
McDonalds would never make me clean up my own mess. I could leave my tray on the counter of the women’s toilet and they would clean up for you. That’s service.
I never imagined that I would be a “housewife” in Mongolia. I never imagined myself being a housewife anywhere. I spend all this time cooking and cleaning, and here’s the sick part – I secretly enjoy it.
But don’t tell anyone!!
I must keep it a secret as not to tarnish my career-woman status back in the States. Women work two jobs, fifty-five plus hours a week, have a few children, a husband (one is enough, right?), and need a housekeeper just to keep everything together. That’s the American woman, that’s what we fought for. Women fought during the feminist movement of the 1990s, the civil rights of the 1960s, hell, the right to vote in the 1920s. We earned the right to raise babies and work overtime, dammit! So get out of our way.
Yet here I am, eight thousand miles from my homeland. It’s a Friday night, the work week is finished. I am waiting for my husband to come home. We don’t have anything planned for the evening. Tomorrow is a new day.
I nearly forgot -- supper is ready, and the kitchen is nearly clean. I wonder if Britney could say the same.
Part I – Providing Nourishment
Perhaps the title is a bit cliche, a bit over the top, maybe too exotic. Life in Mongolia is not that exotic just because I live in the ancient homeland of Chinggis Khaan. What housewife’s life is exotic? Angelina Jolie, Britney Spears? Do they really qualify as housewives? Do I really qualify as a housewife?
In the USA, I rarely did my own cooking. I guess I shared that luxury with Ms. Pitt and Ms. Federline. In fact, I was nearly as spoiled as they are. I was catered to every day that I found it necessary. I was quite grateful for the establishments that filled my stomach. It meant less time out of my day for preparing meals, less time for cooking, less time for cleaning up. I am eternally grateful to McDonalds, Burger King, Taco Bell, Taco Johns, and Subway. You sustained me in my hungriest moments.
Here in Mongolia, I am always cooking. If I want to eat, I cook. If my husband wants to eat, sometimes he cooks, but mostly, I cook. Last night, a Thursday, I spent three hours cooking. That was just the cooking segment – I’m still dealing with the aftermath, cleanup, twenty-four hours later. Who wants to wash dishes after spending three hours making the mess? It was somewhat lavish to spend that much time in the kitchen. Not a normal situation. On any given night where I actually construct and cook the supper and then follow with clean up, it takes about half that time.
McDonalds would never make me clean up my own mess. I could leave my tray on the counter of the women’s toilet and they would clean up for you. That’s service.
I never imagined that I would be a “housewife” in Mongolia. I never imagined myself being a housewife anywhere. I spend all this time cooking and cleaning, and here’s the sick part – I secretly enjoy it.
But don’t tell anyone!!
I must keep it a secret as not to tarnish my career-woman status back in the States. Women work two jobs, fifty-five plus hours a week, have a few children, a husband (one is enough, right?), and need a housekeeper just to keep everything together. That’s the American woman, that’s what we fought for. Women fought during the feminist movement of the 1990s, the civil rights of the 1960s, hell, the right to vote in the 1920s. We earned the right to raise babies and work overtime, dammit! So get out of our way.
Yet here I am, eight thousand miles from my homeland. It’s a Friday night, the work week is finished. I am waiting for my husband to come home. We don’t have anything planned for the evening. Tomorrow is a new day.
I nearly forgot -- supper is ready, and the kitchen is nearly clean. I wonder if Britney could say the same.
posted by sheridan | 7:15 PM
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