"Women's" Work

There I was, pushing the vacuum around and thinking how oddly familiar it felt. ‘Didn’t I just do this?’ I thought. And then I looked up at the bathroom mirrors, the smudged surfaces begging to be cleaned. ‘Didn’t I just do that too?’

What is it about housework anyway? It’s like painting the Golden Gate Bridge, no sooner do you get to one end then you have to start all over again. I remembered a theory I used to have, back when I’d been immersed in Corporate America. It went something like this: if both spouses work then the domestic side of the equation should be shared equally. But if one stays home, then its only natural that he or she should become the domestic god or goddess - respectively. It seemed fair to me at the time in a simplistic, naive sort of way. And I must admit, on a physical level, the division of duties did seem right – he brings home the bacon, I cook it. Easy enough, right? But oh my god, it’s the same bacon day in and day out, week after week, year after year without a smidgen of mental stimulation in the pan, just a coagulated glob of leftover grease and the unfulfilling job of trying to dispose of it without clogging the drain. I pushed the vacuum back and forth over the same area I’d pushed it over a week earlier, listening to the sound of “un words” creeping into my head, words like unrewarding, unfulfilling, under stimulating, unappreciated (more on that later).

After the “unwords” came that Jagger song: “she goes running for the shelter of mother’s little helper.” It’s about how women of the past felt the need to self medicate just to get through the day. Any thinking person who’s done this sort of job for any length of time might be able to appreciate that. It’s why, whenever I get serious and want to really clean, I have to start at my laptop, downloading something educational or inspirational into my MP3 player so I won’t go brain dead pushing the dust rag around.

Thank God it wasn’t always like this for me. I’d begun my life in the workforce, never assuming I’d do anything but. I started as a receptionist in a medical lab, moved into the oil industry and eventually into office technology where I got a job in Information Technology supporting global applications. It was a good run of twenty seven years spent in an extremely rewarding, well paid career. It was only when I saw the opportunity to “retire” early that I said goodbye to the corporate world and decided to stay home with my son (then nine years old and needing me). I was glad to have the two comparisons. I’d worn the shoe on both feet and felt bad for women who’d never had that opportunity. I couldn’t even imagine a life so limited in scope that it included only domestic duties.

It took about fourteen minutes to realize the downside of the deal I’d traded myself into. Not only were my new tasks mentally numbing but they were hardly even recognized. Gone were the high profile assignments, the challenging roles, the exciting projects, traded in for work that was about as exciting as lint. I remember a while back when I decided I was just good and tired of it. I let the house go for two, maybe three weeks. Sure we had food to eat and clean clothes to wear but I didn’t bother with anything but dishes and laundry. I began to wonder how long it would take my guys (one son, one husband) to notice. After a while, it turned into sort of a game. I waited and waited until the furniture groaned under the weight of dust, until floors began to crunch and toilets started turning green. Finally I gave in and cleaned the pig sty that had become my home. And yet, it still received the same attention as the house that was not clean and I couldn’t help but wonder whether they’d noticed anything at all! But then I thought, maybe they did noticed . . . maybe they were afraid that if they said anything, they’d be invited to join in the domestic fun. And then I was troubled by another possibility. And a very disturbing one at that: if they had acknowledged the fact that housework had not been done, they’d be unwittingly acknowledging the fact that it needed to be done. And by doing so, they’d be giving housework some sort of value. And therein lies the rub: housework is not considered a value added job, not even by me (hence this rant). It’s truly a domestic dilemma, is it not?

But there’s another part of this whole thing that I’m not addressing – that’s the raising of the children. Now there's a noteworthy job that has lasting and global value! It requires more creativity than any career in engineering, it’s more taxing than an accounting job and more stressful than anything a postal worker has to face. It’s a job that comes with no training whatsoever and yet is the single most important role any adult could ask for. However, having said that, even that job becomes part time once the kids are at a certain age. So what’s a mom to do while the kids are off to school? Out on a date? At the mall with friends?

Why, she should vacuum, of course. Oh groan . . . where the hell is my MP3 player?