June Cleaver's Got Nothing on Me

Months before Tim and I tied the knot, we took a pre-marital course. We spent a few of our Saturdays sitting in a circle with a half dozen couples who would soon be married. We participated in a bunch of activities and discussions about making our marriage work, led by..ahem..a divorced social worker but I digress. We soon discovered that we were the only couple who'd voluntarily forked over the money to give up our Saturdays, every one else was there because their clergyman said so. What a pair of keeners we were!  I confess that it wasn't long before Tim and I were placing bets on which couples may not even make it to the altar, which ones would last a year, which ones would end up in the headlines for killing each other. We're mean like that.

There's one activity I remember in particular. We filled out these questionnaires, individually, about how we envisioned the day to day workings of our family. I consider myself a modern gal so I made sure that my answers reflected a 50/50 split in household chores. Why couldn't he do the laundry? Why wouldn't I mow the lawn? Why would I be solely responsible for meals? I sure as hell wasn't signing on to be a 1950's housewife. Then we compared our answers and high-fived each other. We were on the same page, our intentions seemed to be running parallel to each other.

Now flash forward 6 years and 2 kids later. Tim walks in the door, drops his briefcase, kisses the boys and wanders into the kitchen. Undoubtedly, I'm in the kitchen. He says he's stressed at work and I crack open a cold beer and hand it to him. Now wait a second...I'm sure I've seen this crap on 'Leave it to Beaver' re-runs. Once the kids are in bed, we hit the couch and watch t.v. as I fold laundry. That's right, laundry. What the deuce? I control the family calender, scheduling Owen's swimming and soccer. I make appointments for visits to the doctors, for haircuts and for playdates. I am the only person qualified to scrub toilets in this place. The very instant something goes missing around here, the scream for "Suuuuuzie!" or "Mommmmy!" can be heard three doors down. What is with this bullshit?!

Just as I'm about to launch into a Gloria Steinem-inspired rant at my family, I realize, once again, that in the 5 years that we've had a lawn, I've never mowed it. Winter after winter, I've rarely wielded a snow shovel. I don't sort the recycling bins. I don't scoop poop from the yard. I've never hung a light fixture. Tim handles the dirty jobs around here, jobs I feel any modern woman should be game for...but I don't wanna. Berk the jerk is a big dog, I've seen the cow patties he drops in my yard and you know what? I don't wanna scoop the poop. I don't wanna mow the lawn. I don't wanna fish hair out of the bathtub drain simply because it's yucky.

We've well and truly strayed from the original intentions we high-fived over in our pre-marital class. Maybe I should pick up a power tool and make Gloria Steinem proud. Maybe Tim should do the ironing. We both took on the roles we naturally gravitated to, settling into this routine was never something we talked about, it wasn't a conscious decision. Sure, we've divied up our household work in a more traditional way and, honestly, it's been working for us. That said, I don't want my boys thinking that women belong in the kitchen. I don't want them thinking that we exist to do laundry. Of course, now that my mat leave is over and I'm spending far less time at home, our routines have shifted again and Tim has picked up some of the inevitable slack. The boys have certainly seen him make dinner while I ride the GO train home from an exhausting day at work. Here's an idea. Should you notice that my lawn is looking a bit unkempt, give me a swift kick in the ass and maybe I'll mow it. Maybe...but probably not.