The Thankless Job

So tonight at 7:00 pm, after a relatively sleepless night and a long day, I was awakened from a nap by my 11 year old son, "Mom, what's for dinner?"

"Mmmrf. Nrrgle." I replied.

I hadn't planned anything for dinner, having cooked (1 fabu-vegetarian and 1 delish pescatarian) dinner 2 nights in a row for my meat-eating husband and carnivorous child who, whenever he is hungry seems to have lost the use of 2 perfectly good legs that have apparently become paralyzed by the fear of the kitchen and arms that magically seem to have absolutely no trouble avoiding doing homework and instead playing for hours on the PlayStation 3 but that cannot seem to microwave a simple veggie burger. Neither dinner was appreciated.

My stomach is hurting tonight (I have a chronic digestive disorder that messes with me every now and again) and I just didn't feel like cooking. So I asked my dear husband if we could just order a pizza for Jude. "Well, damn," he said, "There's gotta be somethin' in the house that he can eat."

"Um, no, not anything that he will eat, at least that doesn't need cooking. And I don't feel like cooking," I said as I slammed through the cabinets, "There's tomato soup, which he won't eat, we're out of bread so he can't have a sandwich, and he won't eat the veggie burgers."

"Well, there's gotta be somethin'," he replied.

My dear husband happens to be the breadwinner since I am in nursing school full-time, and I rely on him entirely for money. Stupid, I know. My father taught me to never rely solely on a man, and here I am doing what I'd said I would never do. So I swallow my curse words and decide to find something to put into my child's belly.

I threw together a simple spaghetti since that's about the only thing in the house that my child will eat that doesn't require at least 45 minutes of preparation. I slammed a pot onto the stove, and threw a box of angel hair onto the counter.

That's when it hit me: no one in this house, other than perhaps my loyal and loving dog, gives a shit what I feel like or what I do as long as what they want done or need done gets done. As long as I don't leave things undone, such as vacuuming the floors and cleaning the toilets and changing the sheets and cooking their food, they just don't care what I do. Neither my husband nor my son ever asks me how my day was. I ask them both every single day how their days went. I often ask how they are and how they are feeling.

No one in this house ever says thank you to me. Not for washing their clothes. Not for cooking a meal. I tell my husband thank you often for just unloading the dishwasher or for folding a load of laundry. I tell him thank you for buying dinner on the rare occasion that we go out. When I clean the house from top to bottom before friends come over on the weekends, does he ever give me a small thanks? Nope. I tell my son thank you when he deigns to pick an item of clothing off the floor (now that's an even rarer occasion!), and I tell him thank you when he lets the dog out. When I bust my ass to get to his school from my school (or from the hospital) every day, even during the weeks that it's his dad's week and his dad's responsibility to pick him up, so that he doesn't have to ride the bus that he detests riding, does he ever say thank you (or does his dad, for that matter)? Not ever.

Mothers and wives are the unsung, thankless heroes of the home. Even when we are holding down full-time jobs or going to college full-time to make a better life for our families, we are still expected to do all the sweeping, mopping, dish washing, vacuuming, dusting, toilet cleaning, sink scrubbing, child rearing, hand holding, ego stroking, tutoring, kid-taxi driving, cooking, laundry washing, snot wiping, kitty litter poop emptying, and dog walking.

How often are women compensated or thanked? I've heard it said that if women were compensated for all the jobs they do in the home, they'd be pulling down about a hundred grand a year easily. My husband would argue that he pays all the bills and he does the trash-emptying (most of the time). And he does help now and then with laundry (but for some reason it always seems that it's mostly just his clothes that get washed when he does it) and cooking (usually involving the grill). I don't want to belittle what he does. He goes to work everyday at a job that he doesn't really like anymore. And I appreciate that, and I've told him that numerous times. I've also told him that as soon as I am out in the workforce that he should quit that job and pursue a passion. We'll see how that goes.

But otherwise, how are mothers and wives thanked? Or how about stay-at-home fathers, for that matter? Are our sacrifices appreciated? Does my husband appreciate the fact that I've gone without clothing shopping for myself, other than an occasional trip to Goodwill, for a year? When I received a gift card from his parents for Christmas, I made that $100 stretch as far as it could, shopping at Goodwill and at discount sales. When I returned a coat that he bought me for Christmas (it was too tight in the chest), I spent $30 on myself and $90 on groceries. I don't want to sound like I have a martyr complex because honestly, I don't. But a thank you or even a compliment about how well I make "a dollar holler" would be nice every now and then. Or a simple, "Hey, how was your day honey?" A little hug.

And did my son thank me for the spaghetti I made for him, even though I didn't feel well? No. But he is at least doing his homework without argument tonight.