About Face

One of my fears about not working was that I would be completely unproductive spending most of my time checking Facebook or catching up on entertainment headlines, my achilles heel. Turns out I guess I was just bored because now the thought of going on Facebook sends little z’s sailing through my mind like a neverending freight train. It just seems like such a chore now; something I have to do rather than want to do.

Instead of starting the day checking the monkey that was once so proudly perched on my back, I am cuddling my babies a little more. Instead of checking to see if anyone’s life has drastically changed in the last hour since I last checked to see if anyone’s life has drastically changed in the last hour, I am changing my own life sweating through a hot yoga class. I am cleaning out decades worth of mementos and mement-no’s instead of finding out who in high school has gotten fat, gone bald or is still the biggest bitch on the planet.

The funny thing is, I spent more time on that site when I was working than when I stopped. That is probably in part due to the advent of iPhones and the like; but now with no firewalls or bored IT guys staring over everyone’s shoulder I am free to like, dislike, comment and poke all I want. So why is there no poking going on?

It sort of reminds me of when I was a kid and would go to a friend’s house after school. Their cupboards were filled with every imaginable, chocolatey, sweet, salty, greasy afternoon snack known to child. It was a treasure trove of taboo, and I wanted a piece of it; I wanted lots of pieces. And I never understood how my friends could not consume every ounce of every piece of forbidden goodies. The only thing to snack on at my house was cheese and crackers - not exactly my ticket to cool. To not want to obliterate a box of Oreos with a chocolate milk chaser was a concept foreign to me. It didn’t matter which friend you would ask, however; they would all basically say the same thing - it’s always around so I guess don’t want it all the time.

Maybe it’s the same with Facebook. It’s at my fingertips every second of everyday with no one pointing their finger telling me I am not utilizing company time wisely. It’s just not sexy and exciting anymore. It’s lost its appeal.

If only Oreos and chocolate milk would lose their appeal....

Part-Timer

If my husband is home with me every other week because of his work schedule does that make me a part-time housewife? Does that make him a part-time househusband?

You would think with a part-timer like my husband we would get double the amount accomplished in any given day on his weeks off. No such luck. But is that a bad thing?

Part of the reason I am not working is so that my husband and I can spend those weeks together traveling, doing home projects - basically doing as little or as much as we want. Not such a bad thing, right? So then why the guilt of not getting enough done? I swear the man turned his head for two seconds and I immediately reached for the vacuum.

This is an adventure, remember? I keep having to remind myself of that. 

So if you don’t hear from me too much every other week it’s merely because I am off (hopefully) on some great adventure.

The Fun Factor

I was sitting down at dinner with my husband after my second day “on the job.” I was very adamant in telling him all I did not accomplish, as if confessing my failures instead of my successes in a job interview. When he could finally get a word in he simply stated - you should try and have some fun. Well, apparently fun is my new f-word because I looked at him in horror. Fun? I should be having fun? Since when is a job fun?

What was wrong with having fun and why did I feel so much guilt about the possibility of enjoying my new life? Was it my guilt-ridden, lackadaisical Catholic upbringing or the fact that I never had a job I considered fun? Is being a housewife a job? Can being a housewife be fun?

Perhaps the problem lies in the very definition of the word “job.” Mr. Webster, if you please...

1. a piece of work, especially a specific task done as part of the routine of one’s occupation or for an agreed price: She gave him the job of mowing the lawn.

2. anything a person is expected of obliged to do; duty; responsibility: It is our job to be on time.

3. the material, project, assignment, etc., being worked upon: The housing project was a long and costly job.

4. the process or requirements, details, etc., of working: It was a tedious job.

5. a public or official act or decision carried through for the sake of improper private gain.

Routine, agreed price, obliges, duty, responsibility, improper private gain...the job of mowing the lawn...our job to be on time...long and costly job...tedious job...

It’s no wonder anyone likes their job considering all the negative connotations associated with the mere definition of the word!

But maybe that’s where my problem lies - considering this new direction my life is taking as a job. Sure I find comfort in routine; I am a stickler for being on time; I am anything but irresponsible; and yeah, I even enjoy mowing the lawn. The difference is that I don’t care if I get paid or not. What brought me to this point in my life is because I found what I wanted to do, my passion; and I want to pursue it with gusto with or without monetary benefit.

So why label being a housewife as a job? Why not call it a fun adventure? Who said being a housewife could be anything but that?

Oh yeah, that was me.

The Ides of March

Technically it’s Day 2 of my plunge into housewifedom, but my first day as a housewife was a little busier than I thought. Personally, I would consider Day 1 an epic failure, but according to my Housewife Coach, I did great and advised I best pace myself if I am to survive a stay-at-home existence.

I am a college-educated 30-something who was never without a job for very long; even when in the throes of unemployment I considered myself grossly unsuccessful. I was raised to know exactly what I wanted to do with the rest of my life by the time I was 18 and entered my freshman year of college. Ironically, my father never loved the profession he chose and my mother never graduated college until she was in her 50’s, well after her three daughters had received their diplomas. Mixed message? Perhaps. But don’t all parents want better for their children than they do for themselves - or at least what they think is better?

So I graduated college in the four years allotted by my parents and started working at a job I thought maybe I wanted to do for the rest of my life. That lasted less than a year.

Turns out, for some of us, figuring out what you want to do for the rest of your life takes a whole lot of living to figure out. And so for the better part of 16 years I went from job to job thinking - yes, this is what I want to do - until I realized that it wasn’t.

So what happened when I finally figured out what I did want to do? I denied myself acceptance because it seemed too simple, not lucrative and something I had turned a deaf ear to because - well, because it seemed too simple and not lucrative. So I buried it. And I kept burying it until it started to affect other aspects of my life, namely my marriage.

I am fortunate to have a spouse who recognized my unhappiness and fully supported a change in my lifestyle. This decision to change my situation, however, came after many heart-to-hearts and careful planning in almost every aspect of our lives. I am fortunate enough to be in a position where I don’t have to work; but despite my husband’s full support both emotionally and financially, it took me a long time to actually resign from my most recent job.

Being an employed woman means something to me. It means I am not a failure. It means I am independent. It means I do not need a man even though I am married to one. I allowed my self worth to be tied to being gainfully employed regardless if I was happy in a job or not. Until recently I have followed everything but my heart. Having a supportive spouse has allowed me to lead with my heart for the first time. It feels good, but I would be lying if I said it was easy. Day 2 feels good. Talk to me on Day 100.

Over the course of my musings I hope to convey my successes and struggles in my new role as The Housewife of Ormond Beach with candor, humor and lessons learned. Right now I am trying to keep up with all the goals I have set for myself on a daily basis using the daily planner I brought home from work. Last week’s tasks consisted of marketing meetings, event planning and donor relations. This week it’s trying to map out my errands in a logical order so I don’t have to zig zag across the street; saving money by becoming the vegetarian’s answer to Paula Deen; and being able to eat off my floors despite having three cats and a dog. Anything is possible at this point!