Since my husband got injured in June (I did tell you about this, right?), I’ve pretty much been in charge of everything that requires moving or standing in our house. I’ve done all the food shopping, the cooking and the cleaning, (which I’ve pretty much done all of the whole time I’ve been married, but Matt’ll help out with the dishes or the floor mopping or whatever), but I’ve also now been tasked with moving heavy stuff and things like mowing the lawn, which I have never really done. I mean, I mowed the lawn in my parents’ old house, but they had a ride- on mower and so that doesn’t count. And so all of this got me thinking: What if it was me who had gotten hurt and was on crutches? Who would do everything then? In seven years together, five years of marriage, and three and half years of parenting, I think my husband has made dinner half a dozen times. He can’t fold clothes to save his life, and the vacuum is a completely foreign object to him. Before we moved in together, he said he changed his sheets twice a year. I’m not lying when I say I almost vomited when he told me that. I vacuum every single day (insane, I know) and I change the sheets once a week. Twice if one of us is feeling sick. I don’t think he knows how to grocery shop. Men generally don’t. You can call me sexist or whatever, but if you don’t believe me, go to Stop & Shop on a Sunday afternoon. It’s pretty absurd. He cannot sew a button back on his shirt if it fell off. He cannot iron properly. If he lived alone, the toilet would constantly have what we lovingly refer to as the “man wreath” on the bowl (you know what I’m talking about. The ever- present ring of urine drops and pubic hair? I know you know). Anyway, I digress. What I am trying to convey is that although it can be very annoying that my darling husband does not know how to do many basic things like this, it might not actually be his fault.
We do not teach our boys to do things like how to properly sort laundry or how to roast a chicken. Because that’s chick shit, evidently. I don’t know about you, but I was 32 when I got married. What are men doing during the time that they are graduating from college and when they get married? Do men in their 20’s eat? Why does my super- intelligent, upper management, highly educated husband not know how to fold a towel? And in the same vein, why do I, the backbone of my household, the woman who can simultaneously potty train a child and make a souffle, not know how to mow the Goddamned lawn? I don’t know how to fix a leaky faucet or how to check to see if the pilot light on the water heater is working. I wrote HTML code for a living for Christ’s sake, and yet I am unable to figure out how to re- set the cable box. I’m hardly an idiot, it’s just that there always seemed to be someone around to “do the man stuff”.
My girlfriend, who is a teacher, tells me that they no longer offer Home Economics or Shop classes in public school. In a world where we are getting married later in life, and expect our partners to be equals, how can we not teach our kids to know both how to cook and to check the oil in the car? The damsel in distress thing doesn’t work when its 4 am and the car seizes up. It seems almost shameful to me that I have to call my husband or my dad to help me with things I am completely capable to doing. It seems equally as ridiculous that my husband cannot make dinner for three people if it is not frozen ravioli.
I am thankful to have had a mother who took care of all the lady business in our house when I was a child. Because of her, I am confident in the kitchen, at the grocery store, at the craft store. I just wish my father had showed me how to be more confident under the hood, or at Home Depot. I wish my mother- in- law had taught Matt to use a needle and thread. In the months since the injury, finding myself doing the things that have been previously thought of as his work, makes me all the more motivated to make sure that Sophie knows how to do things previously categorized by gender. I don’t want her to be dependent on her husband or boyfriend or father to do things that I know she can do, but doesn’t, because she’s a girl.
Mommy Said a Bad Word 