Ma vs. Mama: A Comparison

We have a longstanding rule in our home, and for the almost-14 years we’ve been married, I believe it has helped our marriage.

But now I’m questioning the rule. And my degree of personal selfishness.

The rule is: whoever cooks dinner does not have to clean up after dinner. This translates to: Hubs does the dishes.

As I stated already, I believe it’s done a great deal in helping alleviate potential intense fellowship (read: fighting) in our marriage. For years, I was working full-time, outside of the home, cleaning the home (except for the bathroom because Hubs doesn’t like the job I do in there, and I’m okay with passing that baton…er, wand, as it were…), cooking the meals, managing our checkbook, organizing our social calendar, etc. etc.

Yesterday, as we were driving home from church, I finally verbalized a thought I’ve been having for the last few weeks. “I’m a selfish, entitled brat.”

To take our Little House on the Prairie revelations to another level, I realized there are so many things I do (and have) Ma Ingalls wouldn’t have known what to do with.

My husband works full-time, outside of the home, and I expect him to do the dishes every night because I cooked. If he doesn’t do the dishes, they don’t get done. They get stacked on the counter. EVEN THOUGH WE HAVE A MACHINE THAT WASHES THEM FOR US. If Hubs doesn’t put the dishes into the machine that washes them and turn it on, the dishes don’t get done.

Granted, we have more dishes than Ma Ingalls ever imagined having. But simply because we use more doesn’t give us credit in washing them less often. We have to push a button to clean our dishes, and I deemed myself spent in order to relieve myself of that responsibility. I mean, really.

We also have more outfits than any member of the Ingalls family could have imagined wearing, so we have the luxury of utilizing a clothes hamper to collect our dirty clothes. And collect, and collect, and collect. Until someone needs something in said hamper, and I have to put the clothes INTO A MACHINE THAT WASHES THEM FOR US.

I’ve griped for years about putting clothes away once they’re folded because (stamps foot) I don’t want to! I have never minded washing, drying, or folding clothes, but when it comes to putting them away, it’s something I only do when I absolutely have to.

Ma had to get a tub of water from the creek, use a washboard and a clothesline, and take extra care of the few clothes they had in order to make them last longer. The girls got a new dress each year if they were lucky. And I am griping about taking my clothes out of a basket and putting them into a drawer or onto a hanger.

Ma baked her own bread, made her own hominy, sewed their own clothes, homeschooled her girls when they couldn’t go to school, taught them from the Bible, cleaned her home, fed her chickens, raised her girls, and took care of her husband every day and the only buttons she had to push were the ones she sewed on to her own hand-made garments. (She also buried a son, by the way. That isn’t talked about in Laura’s books, but baby boy Charles died as an infant. As if Ma didn’t  have enough to deal with already.)

The ridiculousness of it all struck me pretty intensely the other day.

I work my share, to be sure. I have a client I work for, and I’m building my own business in addition. I help keep Harlynn’s Heart running, I co-facilitate a support group for bereaved parents, and I write for my blog, our local paper, and any freelancing I can acquire.

Granted – we live in different times. Our responsibilities are different. Our conveniences are far greater. Our demands are more and our skills are niche-based compared to 200 years ago. I know. I get it.

But still.

Hey Hubs? You’re off dishes duty. I promise I’ll fold the clothes I dumped out on our bed today, and I’ll even put them away. Dinner’s in the oven, and I’ll even try my hand with the toilet wand later if you need me to.

I will not be remembered for teaching my kids to be stubborn enough to get your way when you don’t want to do something. I refuse to be remembered for endorsing a lack of willpower to roll up your sleeves and getting your hands dirty.

I can’t expect everything to be done for me, simply because I’d rather be doing anything else. 

Thanks, Ma. I’m hiking up my big girl bloomers, and owning my Mamahood.