Please Don't Call Me A Housewife
Not too long ago, a man taking down my personal information for some form or another asked me my occupation.
I glanced at my two bosses, boys ages 4 and 2, who are far more demanding than any editor I ever knew.
The man should have realized my glance toward my sons meant: I am a rather intelligent woman with a strong career background, a great husband and two amazing sons, a nice home, active social life, desire to help out my community and a sense of humor.
“Housewife?” he asked. I cringed.
“Just put down free-lance writer,” I said. At the time, my free-lance work had been a little light because of the uncompromising schedules of two young children. In truth, if he’d said “at-home mom,” I could have just moved on.
But housewife?
“What are we?” I recently asked my best friend, a fabulous woman with many talents who is raising two children right now. “Are we at-home moms?”
“Um — mom-who-is at-home?” she offered, but then she pointed out that both she and I try not to be at home that much, preferring to take our children to playgrounds, museums, libraries, forest preserves, play dates, grandparents’ houses, coffees with friends, and endless errands
What I am is a mom, wife, free-lance writer, and somewhat messy 30-something.
Photo from morgueFile.
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