Hey guys. My husband works. I stay home with the kids. Just recently our schedules were completely different and he spent a semester at home with me, taking grad classes, not working, and it completely threw our dynamic off. I think it’s me. I guess I need to be able to define the role I need to fill to do it well. We were both stay at home students, which to me, meant we should contribute equally. Alas, that was not how it played out. Honestly, there was some serious tension in our relationship by the end. But, thank the gods, that situation is NO MORE, so I’m just going forget about that.
Now, I am the domestic goddess with my toddler minions, and I shall reign supreme over the realm of the home and fields and forests. It’s my world from the time he leaves before sunrise until he comes home late at night, and I am going to make it fucking beautiful, all with two wild little pixies in tow.
While I’m working on building some income from my freelance work, my husband is busting his ass so I can stay home with our girls: teaching math in a charter school, finishing his math ed. master’s, and tutoring for his university between teaching and class. He loves it, but during the week, he’s gone all the fucking time. Oh, he’s also working on his competition level heavy weightlifting.
I like to say “thank you, I love you” for working so hard out there so I can work hard here. My ability to stay home with our children and homeschool as they get just a bit older is as, or more, important to him as it is to me. We’ve turned our lives upside down a couple times now so that I could stay with the kids. This last big change, with his new jobs this week is amazing. This kind of came out of nowhere, and it could not have happened at a better time. Regardless, we’re still adjusting.
Anyway, I digress. He’s gone long hours and his body, because of his weight training, has pretty strict nutritional needs. He needs a ton of protein, especially on workout days. He needs some high-quality carbs, some high-protein dairy, some fruit, and usually some vegetables. He will make his own lunch, but it’s really, really sad. Or, he goes to Subway and pays like $12 for a roast chicken salad that leaves him hungry.
Therefore, I, like many women before me, do what I can to take care of my man with food. I’ll talk about breakfast in a separate post, but I handle that too. Brief summary there, though: eggs, vegetables, maybe bacon, coffee.
Tonight, as he was going to bed, I started making his lunch. I coudn’t find his lunch bag, which I assumed was in the car, but he says “Oh, just put it in a grocery sack, I can get it.” Which was nice. I was really happy for about 5 seconds, because it is cold as fuck out here tonight. Anyway, it hit me that I was trying to infuse this daily, mundane task with love, and that stuffing it in a grocery sack did not feel like a love-infusing task. I drug my crazy ass out to the car for the bag, and grabbed his coat for in the morning, and felt better about it. I then marveled at the beauty of a clear, cold southern night, far out enough in the middle of fucking nowhere that the stars are beautiful. And tonight there’s the full moon, the blue moon, the supermoon, and the blood moon. This, a happy witchy woman doth make.
Back inside. I made two of his favorite sandwiches: fuck tons of turkey and swiss, on 12-grain bread, with dijon and mayo. I washed an apple. I bagged up mango slices and grapes. I sacrificed a beloved black cherry greek yogurt. I added a homemade blueberry muffin, which he probably won’t eat, but could, idk, trade for something? Whatever, it’s a fucking muffin.
I don’t want him to feel like it’s a big deal. I don’t want him to think I’m going out of my way. I’m really not. All I have to remember to do is buy the right stuff at the grocery store, wrap it up, and put it in a bag. I do hope he feels a little bit taken care of though.
Should I put a little note in the top? We’ll see.