What's a Homemaker?
Sat., June 8, 08:35 PM
What the heck is a homemaker? “Homemaker” is a substitute for “housewife,” thought up by the brainwashers. When I stayed home caring for kids, I was a housewife – or a mother. Not a homemaker, not a domestic engineer. (I kind of like Roseanne’s “domestic goddess,” but I don’t think it should be a self-applied term.) When I was working, I was a secretary, or a bookkeeper, or an administrative assistant, or an office manager.
Over the years of our marriage, both my husband and I were “homemakers,” as far as I was concerned. For two rather conservative people, our situation was remarkably modern. Sometimes he was the major breadwinner, sometimes I was. When the children were small, I stayed home, but I was out of the business world for less than ten years. (There are some advantages in having your children so close together.)
Our common objectives were making a family, maintaining a home, nurturing and teaching our children. I usually cooked, but once or twice a week, he prepared a simple supper or breakfast. I did the laundry, he swept the floors. When the babies were little, he washed dishes after supper while I got the kids ready for bed. (If his methods were a little strange, I just ignored it; bathing, diapering and pajama-ing three kids was hard enough. He knew he had the easier part of that deal.)
Even when he was providing the income, I managed the finances, because I was the one who knew how. So I paid the bills, I did the taxes and financial planning. He did the repairs, took care of things that were too heavy or too high for me. It was a team, not a confrontation.
He retired ten years ago and has deteriorated since then. Giving in to poor health, he hardly ever goes out. His point of view seems to be that he’s finally going to do what he wants to do, not what anyone else thinks he should do. Who says you can’t stay up all night and watch television? Who says you have to eat what you don’t like? Who says you can’t make a supper out of coffee and Little Debbies? Who says you have to eat in the kitchen instead of in the bedroom? And so forth.
There are some rules, like my insisting that he take his medications. I don’t want him to smoke, but he still gets his cigarettes. I’ve told him I’ll drive him anywhere except the cigarette store. So, maybe once a month, a daughter will drive him to the ATM (he has a separate account for his own use), to the supermarket for his candy and cookies, and to the cigarette store.
Sometimes he avoids me for days at a time, because I’m the one who notices when he’s not feeling well. “You’re wheezing a lot,” or “your leg looks sore.” If he doesn’t acknowledge these things, they don’t exist.
You know what? He’s not hurting anyone, except himself. It’s still his home. I guess it’s my turn to be the homemaker.
