I work from home. As of last week, I work entirely from home (unless I’m on a shoot or at a meeting, but the bulk of my time is spent chez moi, either writing, event-planning, or hustling for my next modeling job). Consequently, I tend to make dinner for the two of us (and, as a particular stripe of foodie, I tend towards fancy flavours, if not fancy presentations, and doing things from scratch) most nights. Not all. But most.
And sometimes – when my Ghost gets home tired and sore and needing a break, and I’m working in the kitchen while she’s surfing the internet – I catch myself wondering if I’m being “dommely” enough when I run my servant gently and give her time to recover, do self-care, and so-on[1].

I have days where I feel like I’m doing “a lot of house-work”. Meaning “as much house-work as I would have done on a given day before I got into this dynamic with Ghost”. Which doesn’t actually mean “a lot of house-work”: I’m not doing dishes. I’m rarely doing laundry or vacuuming, taking out the garbage or the recycling.
The house-work I choose to do[2] is, as many people (from feminist economists like Marilyn Waring to spec fic bloggers like Cat Valente) have pointed out, either the stuff that lives at the fun-and-creative end of the domestic-labour spectrum, or else it’s the easy, short-time-frame stuff – like putting away clean dishes or folding clean, dry laundry – that gives one a feeling of accomplishment (“Ahh, I can cross that off my list”) without actually requiring one to do heavy lifting or get one’s hands dirty.

Remembering this is sometimes helpful for me when I’m mucking about getting dinner on the table while my Servant is having 20 minutes of down-time after her work-day (the pay-cheque from which allows me to be a freelance writer/model/crafter). A queen in her kitchen is still a queen. 😉

Anyway, that’s my rumination for the moment.

TTFN,
Ms Syren.

[1] I’m aware that this is silly. Particularly when I’m also aware that running my sub gently is still running my sub. It doesn’t stop me from feeling insecure every now and then and wondering if I’m Doin It Rong or something by doing it with less formal structure than others might/do.

[2] And it is a choice. I know my girl will be tired and achy when she gets home from the Day Job. If I make dinner, she feels taken care of and I get to eat at a time of day that’s better suited to my needs/wants/etc. If I don’t feel like cooking? I phone my girl and ask her to pick up a frozen lasagna or take-out butter chicken or similar on her way home. Easy.