Over the decades the pendulum has continued to swing when it comes to the topic of women's rights. Current trends take this topic into outer orbit, but for me it goes back to a very simple decision to be a stay-at-home mom in a world of daycare and careers. The truth is we had no option. Having four sons in four years and my college education still incomplete, our only choice was to hunker down and get the boys in school before I could resume a career path. This was a dilemma I thank the Lord for to this day.
In fact, that is what birthed this very column going on 30 years ago. While I sat at home clipping coupons, reheating leftovers and organizing closets filled with garage sale clothes, I took time every few days to type out a venting session on being a "Prehistoric Housewife". The rest of the worldly women were out there teaching, managing, banking, and starting businesses. I was home trying to learn how to sew on a button and cook huge one pot meals.
Most days I felt like a failure. Money was stretched on one income. My wardrobe consisted of T-shirts, shorts, and jeans. I cut my own hair and the boys hair. I gardened. I spent time journaling. I held true to my refusal to get caught up in watching soap operas or daytime game shows. A quiet house was somewhat of a delicacy when noise was inevitable when the last school bell rang. But a quiet house was not a still one. The mounds of clothes, dust, and dishes were a revolving door.
Twenty-five years ago, I went back to college one class at a time and twenty years ago started teaching. We had been married for 12 years when I started this, so it took a major shift in thinking and living. It challenged our marriage. I wasn't available to take on all household issues, dental visits, vet appointments, and sports physicals. We had to learn a whole new juggling act. We now had two incomes and paid twice the amount of taxes. My closet was no longer just shorts and t-shirts, but interview suits, winter slacks, and summer dresses with jackets.
The house was completely empty during the day and dinner was simmering in a crockpot or awaiting a microwave. My column shifted from Tales of Prehistoric Housewife to just Tales because Ms. Moggie Bickham reminded me I was now a working woman. But in hindsight I had always been a working woman. Some of my toughest days varied from being up all night writing a college paper and bleaching football pants to then grading papers into the night after getting home from a football game only to have to be at work teaching 80 students within hours.
One life was no easier than the other. Both required major sacrifices and constant moments of feeling less than enough. The garage sale finds had become a true DIY skill and my gardening I had once leaned on to trim down the grocery bill had become a way of life for me and now my four grown sons who grew up picking tomatoes and berries.
There is no right way. There is no easy way. There is only the way that works best as a woman raising a household of children and working as a team in a marriage. Every situation is different than the other. And one is not more rewarding. What we can do as women is support one another in these tough days. Time is always a challenge, but I promise after trudging through the days of raising a family, those tender moments filled with exhaustion are worth every minute.
