Is SAHM a SHAM? And how I became the perfect wife. you just don't care...

…like you just don’t care…

One on the best things about getting away on a holiday is the fact that you don’t really have to do anything. Well, that’s how I roll anyway. The concept of nothingness is hard for some to grasp, but not me. I can go from 100 to 0 as quick as it takes to crack the top off a beer and find a quiet place to read.

This morning I ventured into town and picked up Annabel Crabb’s latest book called The Wife Drought, laughing at the irony that there was a picture of an iron on the cover. I don’t own an iron and I don’t think I ever have. I have read a couple of chapters already and are in complete agree with Annabel, that us chicks get a rough deal when it comes to many, many things.

And it got me really thinking about wives, particularly the women that do not return to work after they have kids. I loathe that they are lumped under the oriole title, Stay At Home Mum’s because from my own memory, I was rarely at home.

I was at speech therapy appointments, play groups, cafes, parks, anywhere that wasn’t at home, because being at home drove me bonkers as I was just freaking lonely all the time. Now remember, this was all occurring before blogs were mainstream, social media was still in it’s infancy and Mamamia wasn’t around so you couldn’t get into passionate and pathetic fights with other commenters from around the country about whether you should have a cot bumper in your kids cot. Or not.

As the kids grew, things got a little more normal, so I turned my attention to becoming a better wife. Because that I what I thought my duty was. I know… stupid. But what else was I to do? Having a son with special needs meant that going back to work was unlikely to benefit him. Plus I hated the job that I left. I know that I was lucky to have that choice.

Now I know p.l.e.n.t.y of women who are full-time housewives and they are bloody good at it. You go to their house and ask if you could say… borrow some stickly tape. And they would go to a cupboard, locate the big plastic box marked “Wrapping Station” and give you some top-notch, good quality SCOTCH tape.” I was jealous, back in the day. How could I become a part of this club?

The answer was organisation. I had a long way to get there, but all of a sudden it was very irritating to be that all of my drinking glasses didn’t match, and were not displayed in a nice visual vignette. The state of my linen cupboard looked like the sales day bins at Myer on Boxing day and my dry goods…. WERE NOT IN TUPPERWARE CONTAINERS.

So I set out to makeover myself into a better wife.

It began when I noticed a label maker on sale at Officeworks. I hosted a tupperware party, where The Divine Ms. M told me during the presentation that if I ever asked her to another one, she would terminate our friendship on the spot. I colour coded anything that had a hue. I slowly went loco.

It ended with me spending a couple of weeks being as perfect as I could be. But when I stuck a label on a plastic tub that said LABEL MAKER, and put said label maker inside it, I realised I had gone too far. Oh that, and the small nervous breakdown that ensued. And then I started writing.

So, my friends, wherever you sit on the scale it is important to know that actually, no one gives a shit. Really, only you are the one that appreciates that all your towels match, or that you spent 3 hours akin a wonderful meal. Isn’t it time to let that go?

And that is how I became great at doing fuck all if given half a chance.

How would you describe yourself as a wife? (if you are one)

Do you despise the title of SAHM? 

What is a better title?

Buy Annabel’s Book here. It is a great read. (so far!)