You Can't Tame Me

The other day I was just making some rolls. Yes, I, Kyanna Jacobson (well Corum technically) was making rolls. I am just a shocked as you are. And that’s what I’m going to talk about:

            I got a big mixing bowl and I started putting in the ingredients. You usually start with the yeast, right? And so, I sprinkled some into the lukewarm water I had measured, hoping it was the right temperature. Because if it’s too hot it will kill the yeast and it won’t work. On the other hand, if it is too cold it won’t activate the yeast, and it also won’t work. But I let it sit for a while and it started kinda bubbling up the way it does when it’s working, ya know? And I got soo excited!!

            Yes, I was excited about yeast… and that’s when I had the thought “Did he tame me???”

Because you see, I thought when young girls got married they were “tamed” in a sense. Their husbands subdued their wild and crazy nature and they became the cute little wives that always had baked goods and a clean home. They weren’t the wild girls they once were. They didn’t stay out all night, or go on random adventures. They didn’t play sports as much, or really do any of the hobbies they once loved to do. Instead they started going to bed at 9, and making quilts, and crafting. And then they make dinner rolls, and they are basically on their way to being perfect mothers who have afternoon snacks ready for their kids when they come home from school.

            Now, I think I’ve always had a wild streak. Not like I’m some wild animal that Jake brought in from the woods and decided to teach how to live in society. Not like that at all. My “wild streak” was careless and free. I didn’t care what people thought of me and I hated not being out and doing things: running, rafting, hiking, playing frisbee, or goofing around with my siblings. I wore crazy socks and tucked my pants into them. I wore really high buns that were basically on the top of my head. Or like pony tails from the 80s. For me it was just to show the world that I was who I was.

            But here I was making dinner rolls…Not training for a trail race. Not wearing some crazy hairstyle. Not leaving the country again. But making rolls. What did that mean for me? Had Jacob tamed me? Because as amazing as I think he is, and with all the things he can do, I was sure that the one thing he couldn’t do was taming me. I didn’t even think he wanted to. But here I am, kneading dough and rolling them into balls so I can feed him. How had he done it? How had he convinced me to be the “picture-perfect wife”? Had he forced me to do it? Had he begged for homemade rolls? Had he complained about our food and guilt-tripped me into it? Or was it not him at all?

            “Oh goodness, Jake didn’t tame me. How could he?” I thought, “I tamed myself.” Because I guess Jacob could never have that power unless I gave it to him. And I don’t think I even did that. I just did the taming all on my own. I made myself fit that stereotype. And even more surprisingly, I like it.

            I like taking care of Jake. I like making dinner. I like cleaning the apartment. I like making the bed and folding the laundry and making grocery lists. And as crazy and wild as it sounds to me, I think I get the same amount of accomplishment from being a wife as I do from running all those miles in the mountains.