So you’ve heard of the term stay-at-home mom, right? Well, I don’t have any kids yet, and I don’t have a job, so I guess that makes me a stay-at-home wife. Except that I’m at home less than my husband is.
My husband works from home. He spends his days glued to his computer, typing out code and chasing down cyber bugs. (He also spends a portion of his nights and weekends zapping space aliens.) Michael doesn’t have to leave home for anything other than church and fast food.
Me? I’m the stay at home wife who doesn’t stay home. I’m the one running to the grocery store, going to ladies bible class, going to writers critiques. I’m the one who takes the car to get it’s oil changed or its tires fixed. I’m the one running to the gym or playing violin with the orchestra. I get to go to the bank or gas station. I get to do all kinds of chores, and indulge in all kinds of hobbies, while my husband is stuck at home with the cat who likes to sit on keyboards.
Now, don’t think I’m complaining. I love having Michael home. And I love being in a position where I don’t have to work, where I get to have the time to indulge in my hobbies and pursue my dreams. But sometimes I get tired on running around.
Which is why I’m spending my first free Saturday in a month . . . working my butt off to write a dozen blog posts, clean out the litter box, take out the trash, clean the bathroom, doing dishes, and making homemade pizza. Oh, and exercise for an hour so I don’t gain all the weight back that I just lost this week.
Then again, it is Saturday. Maybe I can get Michael to handle the poo and the trash . . . .