Donna Reed, week 4

A few weeks ago, Nate and I came up with a solution to equitably divide many of the chores around the house, most importantly the menu planning and cooking of each night's family dinner. We call it being Donna Reed, and the basic premise is that one person is Donna Reed for an entire work week, meaning he or she is responsible for the planning, shopping, cooking and cleaning up after four or five meals a week (weekends are a free-for-all). We figured it would be better to rotate by week as opposed to date so that each person can get into her groove, whether it is the groove of freedom (Alex) or servitude (Donna).

Had I written about our progress last week, I might have done a little bitching. We got off to a rough start on both sides: Nate was the first Donna, and on his very first Monday of being in charge he called me at work to ask me if I thought we had a particular ingredient on hand. One of my complaints about the division of labor before we introduced Donna into our lives was that even if Nate cooked the meal, I had talked to him and counseled him and answered his questions so many times before the food hit the table I might as well have cooked it myself. This wasn't an entirely fair analysis, but it was how I felt and when he called me to ask an innocent question I was a total bitch and refused to answer. Boo on me. But as we got into the swing of things, I was wowed by how well the system worked. Nate would be in the kitchen cooking up some wonderful, healthy dinner like whole wheat penne with kale and mushrooms (note: we can now say mushrooms are not on darling C's favorite food list), and I could calmly play with Clementine until we were called to the table. Heaven. When it was my turn to be Donna, I could cook in peace and quiet, knowing the people I love were safely enjoying each other's company and not under foot and knife while I was making them a nice meal. Cleaning up still sucked, but it's easy to power through it while imagining not doing a single dish the following week.

Our second Donna rotation was a little more difficult since Nate hasn't really gotten menu planning and shopping down. I frankly think the notion scheduling is overwhelming to his bohemian self, and he doesn't like to be fenced in by things like plans and menus. It's what I love about him--he's very laid back. He ended up having to grocery shop every time he cooked a meal, which was only twice as we had leftovers once and pizza once. I set out this week to moel what I think a good Donna week is--grocery shopping and some prep on Sunday and five fabulous, home-cooked meals the rest of the week. It seems pretty easy in concept, but I must admit I almost cried tears of joy when my lovely friend Laura called on Tuesday to say she had made a giant roast and would like us all to come over. That many home-cooked meals in a row is hard.

All in all, the Donna concept is working for us, but I'm starting to think even more radical...like living on a commune. OK, maybe not that extreme (although it does appeal to my socially retarded side because I wouldn't have to keep trying to akwardly make friends), but I do wish I had better neighbors. The drive home from Laura's is just long enough that Clementine can sneak in one of those awful I-closed-my-eyes-for-five-minutes-and-now-bed-time-is-fucked naps, and almost all my other friends with whom we could enjoy an easy, brief, midweek dinner live just as far if not farther. If only the white trash I live among could be the kind of people I want to call up on a Tuesday and say, "Hey, I made way too much lasagna. Come over and eat with us." Nah. If only Laura had a few extra bedrooms. I want to move in and let her be Donna.