Bring Home the Bacon, Baby

At the risk of shocking personalities like Rachael Maddow, never has it been more apparent than this past weekend that in our marriage, Peter and I have succumbed to traditional roles in just about everything we do in our day to day lives. I was so stinking sick that my temperature reached 104 on more than one occasion and I became a shivering, teeth chattering mess. I was in so much pain, my teeth hurt. During this delirium, Peter was one-hundred-percent in charge of taking care of all four children for nearly 36 hours straight, alone. The babies cried the whole time. No really. The babies cried the whole time.

“I don’t know where a goddamn thing is!” To which I replied, “It’s where it always is.” To which he exclaimed, “At least it isn’t where I would think to put it!” After the tempers abated, I explained that the diaper rash cream and all the baby goopy stuff was in the drawer in the bureau immediately below the diapers and wipes…where we change the babies. “Okay, that makes sense.” Peter changes diapers occasionally, but obviously I am the one who has always taken care of diaper rash issues.

Without going into all the trauma and drama of the weekend, the end results were that:

• Everyone survived
• Peter was incredibly stressed out after this debacle. His job, which he loves, he loved even more by Sunday night and couldn’t wait to return.
• I realized, I KNOW I take care of the children 85% of the time, but are we really this delineated in our chores and household responsibilities?

Yes we are.

Much of our gender centered chores result from our own ridiculous obsessions. In other words, our tolerance of the other person’s way of doing is to just let him or her do it. I’ll give you some examples. Peter always mows the lawn. Always. Why? Am I capable? Certainly. Did my parents make me do it in an effort to make me a well-rounded adolescent? You can bet your butt they did. Peter doesn’t let me mow the lawn, because I don’t mow straight enough lines. I’m completely serious. Another example is that I always do the laundry. Always. Why? Is Peter capable? That depends. My whites must be white. My towels and dish cloths must not smell like mildew. Add to these obsessions, Peter’s just made some bad laundry decisions so he’s just not allowed near my machines unless I’m bedridden. Consider the time that I had a white load in the washer ready to go, he looked down at the rug in the laundry room, decided it needed to be cleaned too and tossed it in, turning everything a lovely shade of lime green. I can also agree with him that it is faster to just toss it all together, but colors really should stay the color they originated. You know, white instead of smoky gray, yellow or pink instead of that subtle hint of blue in a certain light.

Many of our other gender based roles have resulted out of the necessity to live more comfortably. Frankly, unless you dig omelets and pasta, Peter’s culinary skills are rather limited. While I will admit publicly that while on bed rest with the ladies, with much grumbling and words flying out of the kitchen that I’ve never heard, he did manage to put together the most amazing tuna casserole I’ve ever eaten. He promised it was a once in a lifetime achievement and he has stuck to that promise.  In general, he struggles in this area so I do all the cooking, and no he doesn’t do all the dishes.

Then there are finances. Peter has a head for numbers that I just don’t have and am not putting in any effort to attain. I always paid my bills on time, occasionally stole from Peter (the nebulous one, not my husband) to pay Paul, but I kept it together. My parents, while they did teach me to change the transmission fluid on their pickup, mow the yard though not in straight enough lines, and be brave enough to cook almost as adventurous as Emeril, they didn’t teach me much about finances. The lesson basically boiled down to, “This is a checkbook, this is a bank. Make sure you have enough cash in that building before you write on that paper.” Obviously this was before debit cards. Peter. Well let’s just say his financial charts and planning are out there. So I just hold out my hand on payday, the necessary money falls into it, and it works rather amicably for all involved.

Isn’t it just so ideologically 50s? Peter prepares to go to work and I make his breakfast, coffee and pack his lunch. He gathers his briefcase, kisses me goodbye and I proceed to wipe our four childrens’ mouths from dripping cereal as they kiss him goodbye. I spend the day raising babies, cleaning house and doing laundry.  He spends the day bringing home the bacon.  I choose the décor, he puts it up. I clean the house, he fixes all the broken things around the house. He makes the money and pays the bills, I stock the pantry and pick up the dry cleaning. On, and on we find ourselves in these traditional female/male roles.

It was never planned this way, and I never spent my days dreaming about a sugar daddy who would give me babies to raise.  No, I wanted an education and a career and I buckled down and accomplished them.  Then I looked into those adoring eyes of Samuel's and my life was changed forever.  Believe me, it's not all roses around here, but it works regardless of who changes the stinkies these days.

There are some blinding exceptions to this gender split household. For example, Peter is wicked fast at picking up toys, and even I can pump my own gas and get the oil changed. But the biggest and best exception of all is this: Peter does ALL the ironing. He even irons my table linens and the childrens' clothes alongside ours. Now what do you think of that? Don’t you want your own Peter now?