I wish I was June Cleaver. Really. It’s not her attire that I crave, or even that hairdo; it’s her well-kept home, composed demeanor, and easy lifestyle. Now that my second (and last) child has entered kindergarten, I find myself thinking of June. It dawned on me that I never saw her in the throes of early motherhood, with spit up all over her and a baby on her breast. (I wonder what she would have been wearing then?) I also never saw her at the grocery store with a baby and toddler in tow, trying to remember what was on her shopping list, which she of course left at home after Wally started whining and The Beav pooped in his diaper for the third time that morning.
No, the producers left this part of motherhood out of the show because they knew it wouldn’t constitute entertainment. Instead, they skipped to the easy part: when kids are in school all day. And since June had few outside ambitions (that we know of), it was entirely possible for her to reap the benefits of her hard work over the previous eight years. She had enough alone time to clean her house, put on makeup and nice clothing, and plan for, prep, and cook dinner every night. She even sat down and talked on the phone to her friends during the day. How delightful!
If you think I’m kidding, I’m not. Nothing sounds more pleasant to me than June’s life. I have been home with my two children for the past eight years and have just begun June’s phase of motherhood. While I can’t say I didn’t work at all during the early years—I wrote my first book (while my daughter slept) somewhere between child number one and child number two and wrote a few articles here and there—I lived June’s life just the same. And I have to say that after living with an appendage attached to me wherever I go—even to the bathroom—the idea of settling into life without my kids for a large portion of the day is extremely enticing.
