Domestic Diva Preparing to Depart

While I was gone, J sustained himself with frozen burritos and yogurt. He would tell me of his plans for dinner when I would call him.

Me: "So, have you had dinner?" Noting that it was now 11 o'clock his time.
J: "No. I might have a spoonful of peanut butter before I go to bed."
Me: "Are you kidding me? You did live by yourself and cook for yourself before we married."
J: audible sigh "Yeah, well I did have two yogurts at 4:00 for linner."
Me: "You didn't have lunch either?"
J: "I thought of making a burrito that we bought at Trader Joe's, but they go in the microwave. Our house doesn't have a microwave."
Me: "So put it in the oven."
J: "On a plate?"
Me: "No. On a cookie sheet."

I don't know what happened when the I-do's went into effect, but somehow my husband forgot how to turn on a stove. Ok, that truly isn't fair. It didn't happen immediately after the wedding. It happened after I left my job from hell and became a semi-permanent homemaker.

As the unspoken deal (or briefly mentioned arrangement) went after I left said hell, he was ok with my new part time jobs and more time at home in exchange for him not having to worry about pesty little things like dinner or laundry. I have to admit, once I settled my internal feminist battle, I really embraced my new full time role of nurturing. I began to actually enjoy making grocery lists, sorting laundry, using fabric softener, etc.. We took a huge hit financially, but our quality of life improved dramatically.

Every once in awhile my inner Gloria Steinem freaks out and I start to worry about equality being reflected monetarily in the long run, but then I figure out I just need a little bit more acknowledgment of appreciation. A recent study showed that a full time homemaker would be earning a salary of over $120 K for duties performed. Yeah, I'd say that earns a bit of appreciation...with interest. Once I get that appreciation I feel fine about the arrangement. Don't get me wrong, J would HAPPILY be the house husband.

Ever since I've been home, in Boston, I've been a cooking mad-woman. Every day I typically ask J if he has a craving for dinner. His usual answer is, "not really." I was shocked when he asked for salad the first day I was home. I set about researching the Brown Derby's Cobb Salad. The thing calls for 4 types of lettuce, herbs, a special dressing, two meats, an egg, tomato, avocado, and expensive cheese. My "no cook" salad put me in the kitchen over hot burners for 3 hours. However, it was so greatly appreciated.

The following day I made the awesome chicken enchilada recipe in this month's Real Simple. I also thought to make a fresh berry cobbler. I used Ginny's recipe on that one. Things were going great until I realized that I couldn't tell if the berries went in first or the batter. My first thought: call Ginny. I almost had fit of panic when I realized I couldn't call her. This simply wasn't right. My next thought was: call someone else in the family who makes cobbler. After eliminating all of my aunts, my mother-in-law, my sister-in-law, etc, I could only rely on my Mom. I began to call all of her numbers unsuccessfully. Now I was alarmed. Who else could advise me on cobbler? I finally called my Dad, who thankfully, was with my Mom. She cleared things up, johnny-on-the-spot. Jon appreciated the cobbler as well.

This next week I'm moving forward with my job quest. Part of me is sad, I hate to admit it. I LOVE my professional identity, but I also relish my time dedicated to domestic life. Who would have thought I would say that? Not me. Once I get this particular job of my dreams, J and I will be back to staring at one another at the end of a long day amid piles of laundry and wondering who remembers how to turn on a stove.