A Matter of Perspective

When my husband and I married, we agreed that we would divide our marriage responsibilities along traditional lines. He would do things like yardwork and take out the trash, I would do cooking, laundry, cleaning, etc. And we agreed that eventually, when we were both out of school, he would be the breadwinner, and I would be the homemaker. And it was easy for me to agree to those terms, because, well, we were both in school and it didn't really affect my life at that point. Playing house sounded fun, and it was fun for the first year or so.

But once we both graduated, things changed for me. I was expected to start staying home and taking care of the people in my house. (What agreement? You mean now?)

I resented it.

A lot.

At various times during my marriage, this resentment has reared it's ugly head. There were months at a time where I seriously resented my husband for getting to leave the house every day. My resentment wasn't so much about what I was going to do, as it was about what I wasn't going to do, ie: dressing up every day, leaving for work, and being Very Important.

It's hard to explain. Of course I love my children and my husband. I do want them to be taken care of. I knew that someone had to run the house. It's not that I didn't want to do it, it's just that I resented being "forced" into it. Not forced by my husband, or my bishop, or really any external person or group, but forced by my own expectations, I guess. I have always known that caring for children was extremely important. I have a college degree in the topic, for crying out loud. I guess I just felt like my life's path had sort of been laid out FOR me. Predestined, in a way - no matter how I felt about it. Like I said, it's hard to explain.

"Just a homemaker" "Just a stay-at-home-mom" I would bristle if anyone else used those terms, and I would vigorously defend my job to anyone. But if I was honest with myself? I spent a lot of time wondering if what I was doing was really all that important.

Fast forward 20 years.

Last month I got the chance to work "full time" for about 3 weeks. And when we say "full time" I am completely aware that the Substitute Teacher's 7 hour day does not even come close to the normal "full time" day some people work. On the other hand, you have to give me credit for heading into a new and hostile situation every day, which is more than a lot of people do. Unless you work in Iraq. But anyway...

For the first week, I felt Very Important getting out there and having to be somewhere on time every day. But I could see things around the house starting to deteriorate, and I didn't have the energy to do anything about it. I came home with both my brain and my legs aching. (I swear I would rather have been paid by the mile!) Shopping? Cleaning? We would just have to all pitch in and make these things happen. I mean, other families do it, right?

The second week went downhill fast. I was exhausted. (Hey, you try keeping track of 30 hormonally imbalanced, yet physically charged 12 year olds for a week. And get them to do their homework, too. ) Sure, my husband and kids pitched in some, and had been pitching in right along, but every day I still came home and wished I had a personal assistant. Would a personal assistant make dinner and clean floors? Oh, and run the kids to all their lessons? Ok, what I really wanted was more like a slave. But I don't think I'm allowed to say that.

The third week, we were kinda hitting a groove, and I don't mean that in a good way. Let's face it, the bar had been set pretty darn low from the past week, and we were having trouble even reaching that. Looking back on it now, I think the problem was that there was just nobody in charge. I was way too tired and too inexperienced at this to remember that someone should be doing that. Dinner? I couldn't think about tonight, let alone plan a few days out. Of course, since I never assigned the task to anyone else, nobody was jumping right in, either, so we either had peanut butter or everyone just kind of foraging for themselves.

Toward the end of that last week, I had to run over to a friend's house to pick up some cinnamon rolls she had made for a youth activity. I was in her house maybe 5 minutes. But after I was back in my car, I burst into tears.

Ok, this may sound really dramatic, but here it is:

Walking into her house was like walking into heaven.

The house was warm. It was clean. There were smells of cinnamon rolls wafting in the air (which bordered on heaven all by itself!). But it was more than that. Her dinner was cooking, her table was set, two of her kids were sitting at the counter in the kitchen, arguing over a math problem, and another was whimpering on the floor. It wasn't perfection, in fact, my friend looked a bit frazzled (And hey, she had just made 5 dozen cinnamon rolls - - she was entitled!), there were dishes in the sink, and the usual stacks of paper on the counter and whatnot. But for the couple of moments I was in her home, it felt so good. And familiar. It was a little like walking into the temple.

Now, I'm completely open to the idea that the cinnamon roll smell could have been impairing my brain, but I swear to you I could actually feel love in the air. And it occurred to me that this was what it was like, to come home from a day of people just hammering on me, to a place where I could rest my soul.

And I had a glimpse of how desperately I needed to rest my soul. And how desperately every person in my family might need to rest their souls.

And that was a job I really wanted. To make that place for the people I love. To really make it a home. That's right. I desperately wanted to be a homemaker.

I think we who are so incredibly lucky to be stay at home moms, sometimes forget what it's like to be out in the world every day. At least I do. I'm not talking about the occasional snotty cashier, or the guy who cuts you off in traffic, I mean the every day pressure and temptations and expectations of being at work - and (since I've recently been there) at school. Our big school kids are constantly pounded from the time they show up until the time they leave the building. Immorality, incredibly foul language (even if it's just in the background), cheating, dramatic relationships; they're all a part of the daily experience. But even our little kids have daily interactions with those evil things on some level. Believe me. It's real.


I realize that this is just my little life talking here. I don't mean to make judgments or proclamations for anyone but myself. But speaking for myself, I guess I never realized how important my "real" job is until now. And now that I've had a glimpse of what it can be, I'm kind of excited about it and wondering if I'm up to the challenge.

I haven't been running around this past month frantically baking cakes (or cinnamon rolls) or desperately cleaning closets, trying to recreate the feeling. Far from it, in fact. But I have been a little bit happier in my job.

And I think maybe for the first time in my life I've been truly grateful for the opportunity.