A stranger in my own home
I was starting to get the distinct impression that my wife was doing a whole lot more around the house than I gave her credit for
Jim LaJoie
My marriage is a contemporary one in many ways. Before my wife retired, we both worked demanding jobs. During the workweek, after a long day, we would typically prepare dinner, eat and sneak in a few hours of reading, relaxing or watching television. The weekends were when we would tackle all the necessary household tasks we hadn’t had a chance to do during the week. We would both have tasks to do, and I would do mine without complaint. Because I was helping, I thought, mistakenly as it turned out, that there was an even division of labor. Or, at least, close to being even.
Oh, Jim, you poor deluded man.
That delusion gave way to reality under the worst circumstances: my wife had a serious medical situation (now, thankfully, under control), that resulted in her immediate hospitalization for almost two weeks. Suddenly I was the sole person living in our house. Now, I have lived alone in the past and I managed just fine so I wasn’t concerned. But, within a day or two, I realized that there were currently many things being done that I took for granted but had no idea how they were actually being carried out.
What I am about to write I am not proud of. If my wife happens to read this, she is going to just shake her head, as if dealing with a child. Here goes....
The first example came when I went to wash my hands in the bathroom one morning and noticed the stone soap dispenser was nearly empty and the soap needed replacing. I realized I had no idea how this soap was always available for me to use. I had to hunt around the house before finding a rather large container of soap that resembled the stuff in the bathroom dispenser. How did it get from this large bottle to the dispenser in the bathroom, I wondered? I did figure it out – I am not that dumb – but it was a revelation that this task had been carried out for a long time without my even being aware.
A second example was when I needed another hand towel in the kitchen after making dinner one night. Alright, I know my wife was changing them, but never spent a second of time thinking about where she kept them. It took about 10 minutes to find them. Of course, after grabbing one, I was pretty sure my wife would have gently admonished me for using the “wrong” towel, as she has some rotation that only she can unlock the mystery to. I knew these towels were getting replaced on a weekly basis but never gave a second of thought as to how it was happening.
I began to feel as if I was merely a guest in this house, not a resident. A third example was when I wanted to do a load of laundry before my wife came home from the hospital. I didn’t want her coming home after a serious medical issue and find a pile of dirty laundry. So, I dived in.
(A bit of background: I admit to absolutely hating to do laundry. In my 20s I would – and I write this unapologetically and without shame - bring my laundry to my mother’s where she would gladly do it for me. In return, good son that I am, I would try to do something around her house that she couldn’t do herself. Before I got married I was doing my own laundry in my own house with a washing machine and dryer like an actual adult. One day my then-girlfriend now-wife noticed I was jamming towels, underwear, shirts, jeans and everything in one big load, threw in some detergent and washed everything in warm, not hot, water. She told me after we were engaged that at that moment, she knew she was never going to allow me anywhere near the washing machine. I swear to God that isn’t why I washed those clothes that way in front of her, because that was my normal process, but won’t lie and tell you that I was unhappy when she decided to assume the role of laundress.) I threw my clothes in, looked at all the laundry products sitting on the shelf, and had no idea what I was supposed to do. I know my wife added detergent, how much I wasn’t sure. But what about these other things? Dryer sheets? Ok, the word dryer is right on the box, so they must not go into the wash. What about these color sheets, what the hell are they for? I only used a small amount of detergent and hoped for the best. Everything turned out fine, to my relief.
I was starting to get the distinct impression that my wife was doing a whole lot more around the house than I gave her credit for. And, by extension, I was doing far less. My thoughts of carrying half the responsibility for household chores vanished and I was hoping I was doing somewhere in the 33% range at least. And, that might be pushing it. I reluctantly admitted this not long after she returned home. In response, she just smiled and said: "You do a lot: for a man." I still don't know if that was meant as a compliment or insult.
I am not saying any of this is right but guessing that many guys are shaking their heads in agreement. C’mon buddy – yeah, you there - don’t pretend you are doing any better.
Now, where is the extra toothpaste kept.....
About the author: Jim LaJoie was born and raised in Massachusetts, relocating to North Carolina about a decade ago. He has lived more decades than he cares to admit, but fewer than he plans to.