Recently I quit my long term job, which could be a good or bad thing whichever way you want to look at it, I guess. Being able to be at home leaves one the opportunity to contemplate things that before you didn’t have time to. In the course of quitting my job, I became a temporary *shudder* housewife. This is a term that a couple of months ago would have sent me on a tangent about feminism and the liberation of women, but as I sit here now, working on school and waiting on my husband to get off work, I feel a little at peace. I have realized over this short time of being unemployed that what you do doesn’t define you. I am still the sarcastic, slightly cynical, tomboy I was when I had a job. I didn’t miraculously become Holly Homemaker with a pink dress and fixed hair. I do get up and cook for my husband every day, I do clean the house, but I also am completing my bachelor’s degree, I have started an organization with my mother and sister, and I play one mean game of Call of Duty. I think one reason I decided to start this blog is sort of therapy for me, I can get ideas and thoughts off my chest that I normally wouldn’t be able to. Also, I think young women who have found themselves in my shoes, or thinking about following a path like mine, can find comfort and support knowing they are not alone. I want to paint a picture of life the way it really is, not roses and rainbows the way some people make it out to be. Life is a journey, and with that comes ups and downs, gains and losses, and I think it’s important for people to see the real picture.
This is my story. This is how I became the anti-missus.
Growing up I was raised in an intact household. Though my parents had issues, my mom stuck with my dad through thick and thin. My mother was a housewife, but not by choice. She has several disabilities and because of this she was able to stay home with my sister and I. She was the rock of my household and she was the one that held everything together. My father had issues with alcohol long before my sister and I showed up and it’s a battle he was never able to conquer. Because of this my mother had to look the other way often, but it also thrust her in the head of the household. My mother instilled in my sister and I early on that whatever you set your mind to, you can do it. I don’t remember much of my dad from my childhood, though I was a daddy’s girl he was away a lot working to support us. I loved my father more than anything and I wanted to spend every moment with him, it just wasn’t possible. My parents never pushed us to go to college, but they did push us to be successful. To my family, success is subjective; it’s what you make of it. My mother was able to assist in writing several laws pertaining to sex offenders, she worked for the FBI, and she was on the Maury Povich show (for a good reason, not a paternity test, lol,) all without receiving a college degree. During these times, my sister and I were in the front row watching everything. I remember waking up to FBI agents drinking coffee in the living room, having to be quiet in the bedroom because the news crew was there, and also trailing behind my mother at the capitol building which she fought for what is right. This shaped the way I viewed the world, I understood early on that life was not fair and that someone has to speak out for those who can’t. My dad also instilled in us that when there is a need, you meet it. When someone is hungry, you feed them. After my 6th birthday, we had a lot of food left over so my dad loaded us up in the station wagon and took us under an overpass in Roebuck to eat dinner with a homeless man who wouldn’t have eaten that night otherwise. He was also the go-to man for the elderly in the neighborhood because they knew they could count on him to be there when their own kids were not.
The year I was 17 was one of the worst, most important turning points in my life. That year I lost my father, but I also met the person I ended up marrying. My father was a hard worker. He worked up to 90 hours a week to support my family but he also was an alcoholic, smoked, drank up to 4 pots of coffee in a day, and came from a family where early death from heart attacks was common. At the age of 48, my father passed away from a massive heart attack. At that moment I grew 20 years, and I also became the man of the family. My father left a void that can never be filled, he had a laugh that could brighten a room, a killer sense of humor, and he never hesitated helping someone in need. It took me a long time, and several failed tries to realize that I nothing could fill that void, and no amount of running could take away the pain.
But in October of that year I met a gangly, mop headed, shy guy named Scott Bowman. We knew each other since we were 9ish (he the Joseph to my Mary in the church x-mas program), but he was scared of me as a kid and then we lost touch when he moved away. We became good friends immediately. He was shy and quiet, and I was going through a weird stage. We were perfect for each other. To the disapproval of his parents, we began seeing each other (secretly). Fast forward almost 6 years, and we are still together, and I am his wife.
The one thing I want to point out to any young woman that reads this is RELATIONSHIPS ARE NOT PERFECT. Scott and I are best friends, we finish each other’s sentences, we know what the other is thinking, but we also annoy each other more than anyone else. Our relationship was full of obstacles that a lot of relationships would have failed over, but we made it. We decided to get married at the ripe age of 20 and 22. Many gave us looks, started pregnancy rumors, and whispered behind our back. We had no money and no place to live, but we had each other. Our wedding was amazing, stressful, and the best time of my life. They really do mean it when they say you don’t remember your wedding, because I don’t.
Our first month of marriage…interesting. Our air conditioner went out, we adopted a dog that then went paralyzed, I destroyed my thank you card list as well as the ones I had already written, and I decided I didn’t make a good wife. I professed a long time ago I was born with no maternal instincts. I don’t caudle well, and I am too black and white. But you know what? I realized that’s ok. I realized that I will never be June Cleaver, I will settle with Roseanne Barr. Our life is anything but normal. But who said marriages have to be a certain way? Scott is my best friend, my confidant, my protector, and my partner in Army of Two.
So now fast forward another year. We are older, wiser, more broke, but happier than either of us has ever been. We are the proud humans of 3 dogs (Bailey, Lola, and Hank) and a cat (L.J). We have decided to hold off on having kids; we are going to finish raising each other first. We spend our weekends doing yard work, school work, and then killing zombies or watching the X-files. I will be finished with school in May with my bachelor’s in Psychology, and Scott is currently in school for yacht design. Our dream is to load up our animals and move on to a boat and sail away.
This is my Life. I am the anti-missus.
