"Screw the Vegetables! Save the Meat!"

You may have noticed that my blog posts have been rather sporadic as of late.  I do apologize.  I’ve been very busy with important things, like pretending to work on my memoir, taking fun weekend trips, and watching the new TLC series Extreme Couponing!

I get all nostalgic when I see those crazed women clipping coupons for things they don’t need.  It reminds me of my mother with her blue plastic file box full of coupons, organized by category and then sorted by expiration date.  She once left it behind in a store and immediately started to panic.  To her, it was like leaving $1,000 cash lying around in plain sight.  She was convinced that someone would take it.  As we raced back to the store, I reassured her as only a teenage daughter can: “Oh my God, Mom, no one wants your stupid coupons!  Normal people look at that box and see a stack of meaningless paper.”  And I was right – her coupon box was right where she left it.

The thing I’ve always hated about coupons is that they require you to buy in bulk.  That’s fine for large families, but I'm an only child, so purchasing a product by the truckload meant that I would be stuck consuming that product until the end of time.  My father and I knew better than to tell my mother that we liked anything.  I once made the mistake of saying that I “thoroughly enjoyed” my Healthy Choice Pepperoni Pizza, and I came home a few days later and found forty boxes all lined up in the basement freezer  (Of course we had two freezers!  What family of three doesn’t need a second freezer?).

I guess having a massive stockpile of frozen goods made my mother feel more secure ... until the power went out.  I remember once, when the power was out for an unusually long time, our precious stockpile began to rot.  Luckily, my mother worked at a nearby elementary school that was unaffected by the blackout, and she had access to the cafeteria's massive industrial freezers.  All we had to do was move 500 pounds of food.  And so, my parents and I headed to the basement to form a bucket brigade.  I stood at the basement freezer and handed armfuls of Lean Cuisines to my mother, who then passed them up the stairs to my father.  When I started passing bags of frozen peas, I heard my father yell, "Screw the vegetables!  Save the meat!"  I can still picture my mother running to the steps with a whole chicken under each arm and one balanced on the top of her head.  That's one memory that I'll cherish forever.  It was a true family bonding experience.  And, of course, the power came back on just as we were loading the last of our stockpile into the school freezer.  

Now, as an adult, I’m the most fickle consumer you’ll ever meet.  Not having a stockpile makes me feel liberated.  I’m free to be swayed by marketing gimmicks and “new and improved” labels.  I have absolutely no brand loyalty.  I buy one item at a time, and I get excited whenever I've almost used it up because it means I get to try something new.  I crave variety.  And freshness.  After years of drinking decade-old Capri Sun pouches, I prefer to consume my products when the expiration dates are still far into the future.

Still, when I see those women on TV getting $2,000 worth of groceries for only $3.46 while onlookers applaud and the cashier hands them a mile-long receipt, I can’t help but be fascinated.  I do like to save money.  Just ask my friends and family, several of whom have called me “cheap” to my face.  I always treat it like a compliment: “That’s right!  I’ve worked the night shift at a gas station!  I’ve sold shoes at Payless!  I know the value of a dollar!”  I sound like a ninety-year-old man.

Yesterday, inspired by extreme savings, I printed out a few coupons before going to the grocery store.  I managed to save a whole dollar on 3 boxes of Special K for my husband, and I must admit, it was pretty satisfying.  In the end, I got $118 worth of groceries for only $115.90!  I got so excited looking at my receipt that I spilled an entire bottle of Diet Dr. Pepper into one of my shopping bags, ruining $5.50 worth of Kleenex.  Factoring in the cost of the soda, that means I got $111 worth of groceries for only $115.90!

I have since decided that I am done with coupons.  Clearly, God wants me to pay retail.

Executive Household Manager

The other day, I went to the doctor and had to fill out a bunch of forms, one of which asked for my current occupation.  Hmm, tough question.  After some deep contemplation, I decided on “freelance writer / executive household manager.”  I purposely avoided using the term “housewife” – it makes me think of a 1950s subservient woman whose sole purpose is to fetch her husband's slippers and wait on him hand and foot, and that is definitely not part of my job description.

I consider marriage to be more of a partnership, and since my husband has a more demanding work schedule, it’s only fair that I take on more of the responsibilities outside of work: cooking, cleaning, shopping, running errands, making travel reservations, managing our social calendar, etc.  But I want him to remember that I’m performing these tasks because I want to contribute, not because they’re expected of me.  If I feel that he's grown too accustomed to home-cooked meals, I make it a point to disappoint him; the next time he’s hungry, I’ll hand him something freezer-burned and completely unrecognizable and say, “Here, heat it up yourself.”  Then if I choose to cook dinner the following night, he appreciates it more.

One might think that these non-work related tasks are trivial and not stressful, but you’d be mistaken.  It can be downright challenging to plan a vacation when you’re both cheap and have a taste for luxury.  And considering that my husband and I are both reclusive misanthropes, creating a social life for the two of us requires some serious effort.  Finding couple friends, arranging events, convincing my husband to show up… it’s no easy task.

Grocery shopping might sound easy, but it can be incredibly frustrating and time-consuming, especially when you take into account my husband’s phobia of running out of things.  As soon as the mustard bottle gets to be one-third empty, he gets all panicky and starts to cut down on the amount of mustard he uses, rationing it out as though he’s trapped on a deserted island and the mustard is the only thing keeping him alive.  He’ll look at me with fear in his eyes and say, “But what if I want a hot dog and there isn’t enough mustard?  You have to go get more mustard!”  In order to avoid such a scene, I have to constantly monitor the status of all of our food items, which come from three different grocery stores.

It's a struggle, yes.  But by efficiently running our household, I alleviate my husband’s stress, thereby allowing him to be a work superstar.  I seriously doubt that he would be as successful as he is without a lifetime supply of his favorite super-soft socks – made from 100% viscose – that shed black lint all over the carpet.

For the most part, I don’t mind being in charge of our non-working life.  Like most women, I’m a natural multi-tasker, I’m organized, and I like things done a certain way.  My husband, on the other hand, has a strong aversion to planning and the minutiae of daily tasks.  He handles the stress of his job remarkably well, but if you ask him to organize a Saturday night out, he’ll completely fall apart.

When we got engaged, he was more afraid of the wedding planning than of the actual wedding, but I was completely in my element.  Obviously I put myself in charge, although I did make the occasional attempt to delegate.  In the beginning, I emailed him an incredibly detailed to-do list, full of links and suggestions and timelines, and he replied with the following email:

Subject: COULD NOT DELIVER: RE: Wedding To-do list

Your message could not be delivered. The recipient's mail server was unavailable or busy, or perhaps he doesn't like responsibility.

I don’t mean to say that he never helps me with anything.  He totally does.  Sometimes it requires a little arm-twisting, but other times he does it on his own accord.  Like the other day when I was planning a trip for our third wedding anniversary, he actually volunteered to book the flights.  When he was done, he forwarded me the flight confirmation and pointed out what great times and seats he managed to get.  I was totally impressed… until I realized that he had booked the wrong destination.  “Um, honey, we’re going to Turks & Caicos, not Grand Cayman.”  Now, see, I would never make that mistake, but I guess that’s why I’m the executive household manager.

The Countdown

Every couple months, I’ll point out a cute kid and remind my husband that I’d like to be pregnant in two years.  It’s been "two years" for about three years now.  When I recently revised it to one year and ten months, he freaked out and said, “What happened to two years?”

I understand his hesitation.  Whenever I see a frustrated mother dragging around a screaming child, I immediately break into a cold sweat.  Given my own personality and that of my husband, I suspect our kid will be especially prone to whining and throwing tantrums.

Nonetheless, I really do want to be a mother... eventually.  My reasons are as follows:

1.) I refuse to let these twin-bearing hips go to waste.

2.) As illustrated in the movie Idiocracy, I feel compelled to pass on our genes.  Our kids will no doubt be uncoordinated, allergic to everything, and have giant feet, but at least they’ll be intelligent.

3.) As illustrated in the show Toddlers & Tiaras, there’s a lot of bad parenting going on.  I’m confident that I will be able to avoid the major pitfalls and make only minor mistakes, like guilt-tripping my kids for ruining my social life.

4.) I have a phobia of becoming a lonely old person.  When your kids get older, they’re obligated to call you on a regular basis and invite you over for holidays.


Since motherhood is looming, my career crisis needs to be resolved ASAP.  It’s hard enough for a new mother to maintain an existing career, let alone jump-start a new one.  I will also admit that I’m not sure I’m cut out to be a stay-at-home mom.  I think I’ll be a better mother if I have at least a part-time job to escape to.  Maybe I’ll feel differently once I have my own child.  I’m basing this theory purely on other people’s children.

Bottom line: I'm feeling the time pressure.  The back of my mind keeps repeating, “Must have thriving career in two years.  Must have thriving career in two years...”  Oh wait, one year and ten months.  Crap.

Housewife By Default

In the last couple of years, I’ve transitioned from working 60 hours per week, to working part-time from home, to not technically working.  The other day, I was washing dishes on a weekday afternoon in my pajamas, and I came to the panicked realization that I was, in fact, a housewife.

Not that there’s anything wrong with being a housewife.  But there’s a difference between choosing to be a housewife and becoming one by default.  During business hours, I should be focusing on my career (or lack thereof), but when I’m confronted with a pile of dirty dishes, I just can’t help myself.  If only I had my husband’s ability to ignore all domestic tasks.

It seems that I’m not the only woman with this problem.  I had trouble finding a title for this post that didn’t infringe on someone else’s copyright.  You’d be surprised how many accidental housewives and unintentional housewives are out there.  Women everywhere are "accidentally" quitting their jobs or having babies and are – through no fault of their own – winding up housewives.

One of my least favorite stereotypes is that women just want to get married so that they can stop pretending to be interested in their careers.  Okay, fine, so I sort of quit my job a few months after getting married, but I certainly didn’t plan it that way.  I had a history of saying "I quit" long before I said “I do.”  It’s not my fault that our honeymoon gave me a lot of time to reflect.  Here I am having an epiphany while riding an elephant bareback through the jungles of Thailand…

I was also suffering from post-wedding depression.  Planning a wedding is a huge distraction, and once the wedding is over, reality sets in.  The biggest day of your life is behind you, and from now on, every day will be exactly the same...  It’s no wonder so many women quit their jobs after getting married.

Since I do still want a career, I’m trying hard not to fall into housewife mode.  At this very moment, there’s a really disgusting pan in the sink, and although it’s killing me, I refuse to wash it until after 6pm.  I’m also avoiding soap operas and talk shows, sweatpants and bathrobes, and eating on the couch.  It’s too bad, because I really like eating on the couch.