When My Husband Comes Home

When my husband comes home from work today, I don’t know what I’m going to tell him. 

"How was your day, today, love?" He will say. Which I will take to mean, "Jesus Christ, what the Sam Hill did you do all day?" Because we are DEFINITELY the kind of people who would actually say, "Sam Hill."

Now, I could try to justify my existence, playing up the fact that I moved some laundry from the washer to the dryer, started it, and threw a few new things in the washer. I could point out the fact that I unloaded the dishwasher (a chore which took all of 45 seconds). I could say that I spent all day working on my resume but that I just can’t get it worked out and can you help me pleasepleaseplease?

I could say those things.

But if I wanted to be truthful, I could answer that I cried all day. Because that is basically the long and short of it. I cried all day, and then I wrote about it. I wrote about it to nonexistent strangers. I wrote about crying to people I don’t know who don’t even exist because no one is ever going to read the damned thing.

I’m sure that would go over well.

The poor thing—I’m not sure he knows quite what to do with me right now.

I’m not sure that he really understands how sitting around on your ass all day long can be hard.

And I’m not sure that I can really explain it to him. You got me, pal. You got me! You’re right! It isn’t hard. Sitting on one’s ass is physically actually very easy! It’s the default way to be! When you’re not doing any other damn thing, sitting on your ass is where you’d find yourself. And yet…

How to explain that it is hard because it is precisely the exact opposite of what I want to be doing? That I want to be doing something useful? That I want to have a purpose?

But, um…the house is a mess. And dinner isn’t cooked. And when is the last time anyone folded laundry around here? These are all valid things he could say. There is PLENTY to be done. I COULD be making myself useful.

But I’m a little lost right now.

I had my first son when I was in college. Very responsible, you see? I realized, after his birth, that hey, you know, I should probably study something with an associated career path. But as bills mounted, cars broke, and life happened, I realized that I probably just needed to get a job. Not a great job. Just any job. I’d finish up, get a job, and maybe even go back to school once the kid got a little older. 

Then I had another kid. Two months after I earned my degree. Told you I was responsible. Stayed home with the babies for awhile. Child care costs pretty much offset any meager earnings I’d find.

And then, after awhile, when I couldn’t justify my existence any longer, I decided I’d teach. To describe my experience would make this already excessively long blog post completely unreadable. Let’s leave that for another day and just say it wasn’t for me.

I then took a job with the state. It’s not easy for a woman with a shitty degree and limited qualifications to find a dream job, lemme tell you.

I then had another baby because I am a GENIUS and transferred to another state agency.

Neither of these state jobs was my dream. That’s gonna take yet another blog post. But the real kicker came when my dad, who lived with us due to his bipolar disorder, was diagnosed with terminal colon cancer. 

I kept the job for as long as I could. Life was work, doctor’s visits, chemo, work, and commuting between the above. I gave the kids what I could and my husband the remainder of what was left, hung my head, and dealt with it. And then I just couldn’t anymore. 

My dad began to have more trouble at home. We didn’t have anyone to stay with him, no family near, no one to check in. My paychecks, cut because I had long since run out of paid leave, ceased being worth the child care I was paying. Mercifully, my husband said it was time to let it go.

Two months later, we learned that my dad’s cancer, which had heretofore been responding well to treatment, had spread to the bone. Two months after that, he lost his battle.

Since that time, I have stayed home with my youngest child and have mostly enjoyed it. I haven’t been the perfect SAHM—remember, I’m one of thosemoms, but I played with her every day, read stories, snuggled a lot, went to school functions during the day…it was pretty amazing in contrast to what life had been like before.

And all was relatively well. Until she left me.

Now that my youngest is in school, I can’t really justify staying home. We need the money. We are managing, but we’re not fabulous by any means. And I need a purpose, hence all the crying.

My husband, who is the single best human being on the planet, in my opinion, is valuable. He has a good job that he enjoys. He is excellent at what he does and is respected. He earns a pretty decent living. He works normal hours and comes home and does the dad thing quite well.

And then there’s me. Me who has the same education as my husband but never quite found the right path. Me who had to put that career stuff on the back burner to deal with family stuff. Me, who has brains, who is a quick learner, who wants to be really great at stuff, who was always told she had potential, who could do something…what am I supposed to DO now?

I don’t know.

And I’m pretty sure that this novella I’ve written on this readerless blog isn’t helping me figure it out. But you know. 

At least now, when my husband asks me what I did today, I can say that I cried AND wrote this blog post.

He’ll be so proud.