Tuesday, November 3, 2015

Womanly duties and cultural expectations

I walk down my street, a cul-de-sac, looking for my kids. They often play with the neighborhood children and the neighborhood pets. To my left, in the yard across the street I see about five older men, maybe they were in their forties or fifties, gathered around an old car. A few men were sitting in the front seats, it looked as though the car could only contain two of their large bellied bodies. The other few were bent over with their heads looking into the open windows while the sound of a revving engine purred. I don’t know the make and model but I do know it wasn’t made in the nineties or eighties but earlier looking than that. It was a seventies orange for sure. They were holding their beer cans and jabbing away, worse than a bunch of women. The smell of dinner cooking lingered in the air. It was the kind of “grandma’s cooking” dinner smell that drew a person to the table. Good ‘ol home cooking I thought. Looking toward the house I saw a woman in the kitchen, she was in her fifties about and the strain on her face was undeniable. The look in her eyes I recognized, her feelings or anxieties I should say, that said, “I’m expected to cook and clean while He plays and enjoys his friends.” Why has it been so expected for women to take the lead in the tasks of prepping, cleaning, and serving food? This ordinary, everyday occurrence doesn’t seem to bother the men. Why is this normal for men? Why do woman take on this expectation? Is it cultural? Is it because that’s what our moms did?
In today’s society woman are expected work, and get an education, keep the house clean, the children and men fed, and themselves put together. Even though the ideal woman in the fifties was staying home with the children so she could focus on her house hold duties wasn’t enough. Today those expectations have not only included work and school but now she’s expected to do it all. When do we get to hang out with our girlfriends while he does the cooking? I want to watch a chick flick, paint my nails and have my hubby take care of the kids, cook us dinner, and dessert. That just doesn’t happen. If I don’t want to cook what does my hubby do? He says, “What’s for dinner?” I respond with, “Whatever you want.” Then I get the kids food because I know he won’t and I leave him to his own devices. I know, I’m a horrible wife. If I’m at work all day and he’s home doing whatever he wants (this would usually include chopping wood or building something), when I get home he says what’s for dinner? I’m like SERIOUSLY?! You should have thought about that and started something for everybody an hour ago! It’s five dollar pizza because the kids are hungry now and I’ve got laundry to catch up on and homework for school to do.
Ok, now I’m being unfair. He does cook on occasion. There have really only been a few instances that the above described has happened. Usually we’re both working and are hungry without any time to cook.
Can you tell I don’t like cooking? I especially don’t like it if it’s “my duty”. I like to cook sometimes. When I have the time and money to create something, not when I lack those luxuries.
What do woman want? We complain too much! I can only speak for myself, I want a clean house when I get home from work and a dinner ready, no laundry to do and no expectations other than being happy I’m home and my kids and husband wanting to spend the evening with me. Why is this so hard, Oh wait- I know; I need a wife. But I am the wife. This isn’t how it should be. I need a spouse that can pick up where I left off or help keep the chores and dinner going when time gets tough, one who doesn’t have that generational expectation of the wife being the one to cook and clean no matter what else she is doing.

I seriously never complain about this, however after fourteen years of marriage and creeping up into fifteen, I have found it is time to put my thoughts down on paper. I wish I had done this a long time ago! It’s therapeutic really. Why? Because I don’t complain. I do, but not to this degree. Here on paper I can! So stop reading if you don’t want to know.