For much of my childhood, I lived in a one-income household. My mom rocked as a SAHM. I mean, she kept me in stitches--literally. (Except when she made me stand very still and try on a garment that was still pinned together.)
I had some friends whose moms worked. I was both envious of days spent with other kids at "the babysitter's" and confused as to why that was necessary at all. We weren't wealthy. We lived in a rural area in a small town and we did better than ok. We could afford Great American Roadtrips in a rented RV to see Great American Things every few years. Like many kids, we had more toys than we could play with in a day. Sure, I wore my brother's hand-me-downs and rode a brown boy's bike with a banana seat during my early bike riding years, but I kinda thought everyone did.
I don't know if this was the typical one-person-working-outside-the-home 1980s family life. It may have been a little Walton-y. Mom got up early and fixed breakfast. We all sat at the table together, said our prayers, and ate. We made our Halloween costumes ourselves and went 20 miles to Walmart to pick out a pattern and material for Christmas and Easter dresses. We picked strawberries and green beans and peas and corn and tomatoes and anything else that grew in the backyard garden. In the summer, Saturday morning cartoons were always accompanied by shelling peas or snapping green beans, the rest of the year, we folded laundry with the Smurfs and Snorkels. In the winter, we were sent downstairs to grab a jar of green beans or tomatoes or a pack of corn from the freezer. These came out of our garden in the summer and were put up by Mom and were a thousand times better than cans from the store. We knew how lucky we were when we spooned up hot, golden, sweet "real" corn for dinner. We didn't know that the few cents it saved helped us to have such great present bonanzas at Christmastime. Mom ran the house and Dad worked hard, bringing home the check and handing it over to the coupon clipper and sale shopper.
But times, they are a'changing. I know a lot of stay-at-home men, these days. Most have a woman wage-earner but not all. Our neighbor is a stay-at-home dad. Our friend has been out of work for over a year. My friend's ex and my other friend's boyfriend are both unemployed. And the husband. Likewise, the first rider of my boy's bike was out of work for a few weeks. All are or were out of work for different reason. Nonetheless, it's a scary economy and it seems to have hit the men I know harder than the women.
I'm sure it must be hard for the dudes. The husband has been through bouts of unemployment before but I think having a partner that does get up and go to work every day must make it harder. He's much more interested in what happened at my work. He wants to show me all his accomplishments when I get home. (And they are many and somewhat impressive.)
It is hard not to be jealous of those accomplishments because they are so much more tangible than anything I do at work. It's not that I ever wanted to stay at home, although I admit, I get more satisfaction out of gardening and home chores, big and small, than I do at work. But it is kind of hard to reconcile the role reversal of having a stay-at-home husband, even when I hope this is temporary. There are things I expect him to do and to be, because they are the things that (from experience) I expect from the stay-at-home half.
I expect him to be better at the whole idea of home economics. But he's not the most thrifty person. Like when I sent him to the grocery store Monday morning to pick up some lunch meat for the step-daughter and he returned with the cheap lunch meat and the expensive pre-made muffins and flavored milk. Or when he grabs a sandwich with friends and wants to go to the movies. (Although the popcorn was totally my fault.) He's made great strides at curbing his impulse spending on bigger ticket items, but not in the little ways that add up over time.
Also, he's hopeless in the kitchen. I think he doesn't eat lunch and he has no earthly idea what is in the refrigerator. I don't know if: a) he's actually not hungry, b) he just forgets, c) it doesn't occur to him that there is something he could eat in the refrigerator, or d) he can't figure out what to do when he opens it so he doesn't bother. It's probably e) all of the above. I asked him to flip my grilled cheese sandwich Wednesday and he said, "How am I supposed to do that?" with some incredulous panic in his tone. I said, with equally incredulous disgust, "Good grief!" (Or I might have taken the Lord's name in vain.) He figured it out.
Sometimes, I want to come home from work and follow my dad's lead: eat the dinner that is waiting for me, grab a beer, and settle in for some television. But at the same time, boring, plus I know I can't hang a door or do body work on the old car like the husband does. The things that I want the husband to do are the things that I can bring to the table. And I know I would be a wee bit jealous and would flounder to figure out my role if someone were to take over those jobs.
In the end, what I know is that we have to find our own way in this world as a team. It's not about fitting into an outdated prescription. I want to bring home the bacon and fry it and give the husband the opportunity to find a life's work that is enjoyable and fulfilling. And if I can put a dinner on the table that I grew part of in the garden and used coupons to get the rest; if I can make the husband stand very still while I pin up a hem to sew in his pants; if I can dazzle my step-daughter with my crafty costume making skills; and if I can occasionally sit down with a bourbon and a tv show after a hard day's work, then I know that I've learned a thing or two from both my role models and I've made a way for myself that fits me perfectly--even if it is still held together by pins.
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Breakfast: Waffle with butter and syrup 40 cents
Lunch: 1/2 c taco soup and corn dog 93 cents
Snack: granola bar 27 cents
Dinner: miner's casserole and poor man fancy snacks 75 cents
Total: $2.35
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