Girls are always saying things like "wife me" when they cook or do other domestic things. It's become almost a joke of sorts. But here's the thing guys. I actually love stuff like that. Laundry, cooking, running errands, all that good stuff. Give me some people to take care of and I'll be such a happy camper. I just love to be useful. Driving people around, dropping them off, picking up groceries, ironing the button ups, washing the sheets, wiping down the counter- it makes me feel productive and accomplished like no amount of finished homework can.
I never understood the whole spring cleaning thing until now. Maybe it's because I'm moving, maybe it's because I'm procrastinating, but I just want to box everything up and vacuum and dust and throw away and clean until my dorm room literally sparkles. This cleaning itch even travelled to my social media, where I cleaned up the list of people I follow. Cleaning and decluttering is actually addicting. I never understood until now. Does this mean I really am growing up?
Sara and I went to the creamery to spend all our leftover meal plan money the other day and we literally spent hundreds of dollars on soap and toilet paper and kitchen utensils and paper towels and a broom and even an ice cream cake for the people next to us in line. That was fun. They called me Mallory the Georgia Peach, which was adorable. I don't think my face has ever been so red, haha! Then, determined to make it to the dorm room in one trip, we sacrificed our circulation and carried dozens of grocery bags on our purple fingers. Sitting on the floor surrounded by different kinds of hand soap and handing things to Sara to put in our giant tupperware/storage bin was so satisfying. Then we vacuumed and I stuck a frozen lasagna in the oven. I love this life. For a few seconds it felt like we had a little home, our friends knocking on the door and the vacuum buzzing and the cleaning supplies packed away. Give me some people to be in charge of. I love playing homemaker.
A few days ago I was with my roommate at Target picking up some packing supplies (side note: guys, i LOVE target. i could browse the aisles forever/buy everything/live there). I was picking up giant plastic tupperware, you know, the kind for clothes and storage? Anyways, I was carrying them out of Target, and it was very awkward because they were rather large, and I looked ridiculous. And then again, just the other night I was making a creamery run for oreos and milk and popcorn for our last minute movie night, and I couldn't help but laugh at how ridiculous I looked. I had gone to yoga earlier, so I was in a loose striped tee and some leggings. I had gotten cold (because it was snowing. in april. c'mon provo), so I had thick socks pulled over my leggings, and the closest shoes I saw as I ran out the door were my birks. I looked positively ridiculous. And I loved it. No, relished in it. Here I was, grabbing some groceries, snacks for movie night and frozen dinners for later in the week when finals will be stressful and I'll need something decently nutritious, browsing the aisles for popcorn and comparing boxes of Stauffer's lasagna among the other adults in sweats and flip flops after a long day.
Here's the thing, guys, I love looking ridiculous. And when you think about it, that's a very stereotypical mom thing, looking ridiculous. Dancing ridiculously, dressing ridiculously (mom jeans. they're crazy comfy), embarrassing their children. I'm a fan of it. All of it. I mean, I know I'm only 19, and I'm not saying I am in any way shape or form ready to get married, nonetheless have kids. I'm just saying, when it happens, I think I'll rather like it.