I caught up with an old friend last week, with whom I hadn’t spoken in years. The last time we hung out our biggest priorities were making the rent and making it home before sun up. They were crazy, hazy days. We were fueled by big dreams and diet coke and assumed that somewhere along the line, everything would just work itself out. Quite unexpectedly we both become gainfully employed, and quite involuntarily grew into tax-paying, early-rising, child-raring adults. As the years rolled by life took over and our friendship was reduced to Facebook likes and congratulatory texts upon the births of children and the gaining of better gigs. She never struggled for gigs, but I heard her marriage failed, and that she was now a single mum to three gorgeous and clever kids.
She raised the topic of her singledom last week, and checked the credibility of her sources on my domestic situation. “Is it true your husband is a house husband?”
I recognised the look of envy on her face. “Yeah, he is,” I began, but before I could go any further she blurted the inevitable, “I neeeeed a house husband!”
Now please don’t misunderstand me, I am grateful to my husband for the love and care he gives our kids, and for the freedom I have to pursue my career, but yesterday, when he placed a box of barbecue shapes on the coffee table, next to a bowl of cheezels and called it “lunch”, it was a great example of why I always say that I don’t need a house husband, I need a wife!
A man will always operate like a man, no matter if he’s middle-aged and caring for small children, or 18 and living with six other 18-year old men in a two bedroom flat above a Chinese takeaway. A house husband will wash the clothes, but they’ll never make it to a drawer, they’ll remain in the “clean” basket on the laundry floor until they are worn and transferred back into the “dirty” basket beside it. HH’s simply have no need for drawers. The HH has no need for face washers, mops or tissues either, he has a tea towel. Tomato sauce is his signature vegetable, X-Box bans are his most powerful punishment, and the bath tub has no place in the lives of his children.
Top Comments
Agree. Agree!
Is funny. But it's also why so man ver cleve women give up their careers. It just doesn't work so often.
Sigh.
Meshel I totally agree with your blog my husband was a HH for a good 2 years while i worked we had only 3 kids then the youngest being 5 months old when i started! Tho i did give up working to expand our tribe we now have wait for it... 5 boys!
Its funny how his idea of a cooked meal was spaghetti from a can with some fried bacon and onion mixed in, giving the baby a healthy lunch was tomato soup in his bottle! Seriously i get the washing clean basket dirty basket we apparently have no need for drawers either he'd rather those massive tubs from bunnings with lids and lables for the kids, that way they can put their own clothes away. I find it hard to believe how anyone could see this is sexist, my husband would read this and have a good chuckle too cause thats how he is! Im thinking of heading back into the workforce soon and this gave me the inspiration to broach the subject with soon to be HH again, i kinda miss those crappy meals and not having to worry about washing or dishes hes so great at dishes haha!! Love your work!!