Househusband

“So Jim,” I said, “I finally got an idea for an essay that might actually work.”

“What is it?”

“Well I would need your input. Your side of the story as it were.”

“Yessss?”

“Remember the year I went to graduate school and you were househusband?”

“Vividly.”

“Well I thought it might be fun if we each gave our side of the story.”

“You mean how I worked myself to the bone while you were off hanging around in some library?”

“Not exactly. I mean how I was grinding away at five graduate level classes while you were playing with the kids and reading the newspaper and letting the laundry pile up.”

“You mean how I did all the cooking and the laundry and the dishes in addition to childcare and my awful part-time jobs that fed and clothed us?”

“No, how I did all the cooking and cleaning and washing up in addition to childcare and writing papers and attending class and doing lengthy assignments that required me to work in the library hours on end.”

“While I just dilly-dallied?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Just what would you say?”

“You were always yelling as you went out the door, ‘Don't do the dishes. I’ll do them when I get home.’  Or when I started to clean, you would say, ‘Stop. That's my job. I’ll do it later!’ Later never came.”

“You never gave me a chance. You always went ahead and did them.”

“It was so silly of me I would promise myself not to do and leave the mess but there came a time I would need a pan or a plate or a diaper or just a path to the door through the toys and I would end up cleaning.” 

“You didn't have faith in me.”

“Of course I did. I had faith that you wouldn't ever get around to actually doing the chores.”

“That's cold.”

“You had wonderful intentions. And the kids had a good time. I do remember how sweet it was every time I came home from class to wade through the mess thinking I was going to kill you until I would find you and Amy and Tony hiding in the living room closet. It was always the same closet.”

“It was the only closet big enough for the three of us.”

“You would all yell ‘Mommy’s home! Yay yay!’ And I would forget the mess.”

“Mess?”

“Well yeah. There were toys and laundry and newspaper all over the place.”

“That's not how I remember it. I remember changing diapers and making kid meals and making dinner and washing incredible piles of dirty dishes and going to the laundry with both of them and vacuuming constantly and cleaning bathrooms and going to the park with a bunch of toys and snacks.”

“Funny, that's just how I remember it. Only it was me doing it.”

“Maybe it was both of us.”

“It was pretty crazy.”

“When did you have time for your jobs?”

“When did you have time for your classes?”

“Those were the good old days weren’t they?”

“Yeah. Lets not talk about it anymore.”

And maybe this isn’t such a good idea for an essay.