It's just words, after all

Jennifer's recent posts have really hit home for me. Much like her, I am the spouse that takes responsibility for the home and kids. I willingly and lovingly do these jobs. I do not claim to do either perfectly and am frank about my failures as a house-keeper.

I'd much rather blog than vacuum!

But I struggle with the same problems and conflicts that Jennifer and many other SAHMs do.

I am frazzled.

I rarely eat in peace and quiet.

I rarely poop or pee alone.

I am almost NEVER alone. I think the last time I was really alone for any period of time, besides my annual ob/gyn visit, was.........

About 7 1/2 years ago. (Yes, Stinkerbell is 7 1/2. You're so smart!)

Last week, much like Tate, The Mighty Hunter was very busy with work. I was also busy with family obligations, doctor appointments, etc. But my busy was with kids in tow. His busy was at work, on the road (ALONE), golfing (with business contacts), etc.

The Final Straw for me was Friday afternoon. Thursday was a very long day for him. He worked so late that he didn't get to see the kids before they went to bed. Stinkerbell cried before she went to sleep for missing him so much. The next morning, he had an early meeting and left before they awoke.

During that morning, I spoke to a friend (fellow member of our little country club) who was going to the pool with his kids and several other mutual friends with their kids and cooking hot dogs, and did we want to go also? "Sure, but The Mighty Hunter won't be there, he's going fishing with a friend over at the lake, overnight." So, I loaded the Pimped-Out Mamamobile with the swimming junk so that me and the kids could join the party at the pool.

I made the point to leave early enough to stop by the office so The Mighty Hunter could see us before we parted ways for the night. Had I not made that special effort (which wasn't a big deal to me), he would have not seen the kids for 65 hours.

The Final Straw = Mommy needs an ESCAPE

cue Beverly and the Girls Night Out

Last night, she reminded me of my Plan To Escape and asked if I wanted to do it at her house. I mentioned this in passing to The Mighty Hunter.

It's Girls Night at Bev's Saturday. How's that work for you?

(considering that Lucky had screamed for me for 30 minutes while I helped Stinkerbell shampoo her hair, I didn't have high expectations)

"You're kidding, right?"

no

cue screaming child again, to drive the point home.



****



And our vows? No "obey" crap for this Gal. Our ceremony was officiated by my Southern Baptist Preacher Dad and was very traditional. Yet, I wrote our ceremony by taking things that I liked from different ceremonies in my dad's Wedding Book. Coincidentally, I used the same vows that my parents, my brother and my-friend-Rachel all used in their weddings. And there was no "obey" in them. (Well, maybe in my mom's but that was 1965)

Here's the thing though. And it's a thing that I struggle with every. single. day. of my life.

My faith teaches to husbands first. It tells them to love their wives as themselves. And, considering how the men in my life love themselves, that's a lot to ask. The Bible teaches that wives submit to their husbands.

Submit, NOT obey.

I don't have a problem with this. In theory, anyway. Yet, I still struggle with it. I am entirely too independent for my own good and readily admit it. I love and respect The Mighty Hunter. I believe he loves me dearly. He has proven over and over his devotion and faithfulness to me, his wife. He tolerates and forgives mercifully. He teases and taunts lovingly. He provides and protects tirelessly. He's The Stuff. His faith and relationship with Jesus are unquestionable and unchanging.

Here's the problem for me (and I suspect many many others)...

For me to submit to my husband, I must trust him to put my interests and concerns first and care for me as my Heavenly Father would.

In my heart, I don't doubt this. I believe The Mighty Hunter can and does do this daily, to the best of his ability.

But the problem with submitting is in my own heart. Born in 1971, I was raised during the wonderful(?) time when girls were finally taught they were equal to their male counterparts. Much like other struggles against discrimination, some women wanted to take over the roles of those who "suppressed" them.

Lemmejusttellya, I don't want to be a man. I don't understand that desire in the least. But the struggle against discrimination for women planted seeds of distrust and malice against the other sex. And it's this distrust and malice that causes me to hesitate to submit.

So, I don't obey. I love and honor. Just like he does me.

And I try to submit.