I can’t help but think of my mother (or any other mom I’ve ever known) who never seemed worn from the challenges of keeping a house and raising children. I do remember plenty of performances by my parents that began with the following address to my father (who would be reclined in a chair watching football): “I need some help around here!!!”…but I can also remember thinking …”help with what!?”
Past performances dictates that when a man is the bread-winner of the family, he typically: mows the lawn, shovels the snow, changes light-bulbs, walks the dog, pays the bills, gasses up and fixes the cars, deals with vendors and contractors , etc… But it now my understanding that when a hard-working woman is the bread-winner of the family, most of these household responsibilities are not assumed…rather they remain the “man’s work”.
Whether this is a result of pre-established gender identity or (as in my wife’s case) simply not having enough time due to an insane work schedule, I still find it pretty interesting.
I can therefore predict that, just because I’m filling, what is traditionally, a woman’s role in child rearing….my wife is not going to suddenly start taking out the trash or turning the lights out downstairs when it’s time to go to bed.
If she gets home early enough and is not feeling like she’s “cutting in” on my routine (I’m often guilty of taking on too much myself and not yielding or asking for help) my wife enjoys making dinner occasionally. Most often, and understandably, my wife prefers to spend some time with our two year old when she walks through the door and If I was working 80 hrs. / day and was able to come home early one day...I’d prefer to have more than just story-time before bed as quality time with my daughter.
My wife also empties the dishwasher from time to time (although it is, admittedly, her least favorite thing to do on Earth) so now I’m trying to be more conscious about saying “Thank You” for that. Not only because I do appreciate it, but also because I’d like a few more “Thank You’s” myself. After all... panti-pretzles don’t pick themselves up off the floor you know.