The societal definition of housewife has changed drastically in the last 50 years. This is an excerpt from Housekeeping Monthly from 1955. It is the guidelines as to what made a good housewife (click to enlarge).

These guidelines are from 60 years ago. A time where women were baby and casserole making machines and that was the end of it. After reading this I wondered what made me different from women who followed these guidelines so long ago. The first realization was, I am not a subservient wife. That’s not the breed of woman I am. I think it would freak Tim out if I started acting that way. In these modern times more men say they are attracted to strong women who know who they are. A woman who is willing to go toe to toe with him and speak her mind. When I was 16 my dad made me change a tire in a movie parking lot because his daughter was not going to be a damsel in distress.

While I’m not that breed of woman, what breed of housewife am I? I’m not subservient, I’m not a housewife/mommy, and I’m not Martha Stewart’s clone. Sorry I don’t keep lavender infused ice cubes in my freezer in case company stops by. The only way I could describe myself as a housewife is, I be who I be. I’m type A. I’m organized. I hate huge messes. I love my husband and am still in the honeymoon of my marriage. I get to things when I can. I make lists and try to stick to budgets. I take charge. I’m far from perfect. I like to sometimes just sit. I be who I be.

The point of that ramble? We all be who we be. There aren’t really modern day guidelines to a modern housewife because a modern housewife is a title you make. It’s not a title given to you anymore. We as women have so many options at our feet as soon as we turn 18. Schooling, military, jobs, marriage, being a mom, starts of careers, the list goes on and on. We may start a path we stray from and follow a different fork, but these days we get that choice. We don’t go to college anymore to get a degree in MRS. The cool thing is if you are going to college for that, then that’s fine too.

My husband and I are extremely lucky that his job salary covers us and the life we choose to led. If for some reason that were to change then I would go back out there and get a job to help support my family. Right now though I am helping my family in a different way. I like that our house is clean more often than not. I like that I cook breakfast, lunch, and dinner for us every day. I like not having laundry to the ceiling. I like being excited to come home because I know it’s not chaos behind the door. I like that I can do projects that I want to do.

I guess when we moved to New Hampshire and I became a housewife I made my own guidelines as to what helps my family the most right now. I made a binder that contains all our bills, my to do lists, goals for the month, projects to do, calendars, cleaning logs, etc. I made it because I need organization not only for me but for my family. We do want children and I want to know and understand how to run a household before we get to that challenge of our life. I know no amount of planning will ever prep me enough, but I would at least like to feel that I’m in the shallow end and not drowning.

I’m a modern housewife who is here for her family. I am a housewife who makes decisions with her husband instead of being told our decisions. I am a housewife who cleans in Tim’s old football shorts and recycled t-shirts. I am a housewife who looks at the monthly budget almost daily and pays bills myself. I am a housewife just trying to live life every day like everyone else out there. If you prick me….just kidding it’s not that serious, but you get it. The great thing is, it’s no one’s damn business. You be who you be, and whoever that is, stand behind that version of yourself. Be proud of who you are and if you’re still figuring that out, give yourself that chance. I’m proud of the housewife I’m becoming and all I can really hope for is that I feel the same way in 30 years and that I be my kicky self the whole time.

Your weekly Emily Post about how to live life in a mannerly way. Let me get my white gloves on to type this 😉 

“Don’t use your utensils like a shovel or as if you’ve just stabbed the food you’re about to eat”

At our house we eat at the bar and watch TV. 

“And what do you do, Amy?” This was a question asked of me at Tim’s Christmas party for work. I responded, “I work from home for a healthy navigation system for a grocery store in Maine, part time.” “Oh, that sounds interesting.” “Yeah, it can be. I’m a housewife the rest of the time.” “*Laughing* oh I wish! That would be awesome, being able to do whatever you want all the time. I mean what else would you do with your time?” I awkwardly took a sip of my wine and decided right there and then to take the housewife part out of the American conversation starter, “And what do you do?”

As we drove home I told Tim that I was happy that I started working from home. I had something to talk about in conversations. I had been working from home for about six months. I was also planning our wedding but was in that lull between the saying yes and the big day. I felt so weird saying I was a fauxswife (a term coined by me and a bff). I was too young to be one, we weren’t married yet, and it wasn’t a real job.

It was true that I had a part time job keeping me busy at home. I was doing data entry from our living room and some weeks had to put in a full 40 hours. The wedding planning went into full force about four-six months out. I was literally planning every detail and was lucky enough to have a job that understood that. In August Tim and I got hitched, had a wonderful wedding, went on a cruise, and lived happily ever after.

In October Tim came downstairs to me on the couch. He asked what was wrong. I finally admitted, “I’m not happy. I hate doing data entry from home. The best part of working in Maine was the people. I just want to crochet and be your wife.” My amazing husband looked at me and said, “Then crochet and be my wife. I would rather you be happy than be miserable anymore. I hate seeing you this way. You deserve to be happy.” And you know what? I did deserve that.

The next day I sent the, “We both know this isn’t working anymore” email to my boss. He happily understood and told me good luck with my crocheting. I had started this new obsession about a year and half earlier. I was getting pretty good and happily gave hand made gifts to family, friends, new babies, Tim, the cats, anyone I could. Once I had quit working from home I was being asked, “Well…what do you do now?” A question I feared the second I hit send on that email to my boss. What do I say now? I’m a housewife? Full blown 100% authentic housewife? Then I realized, I didn’t have kids. I wasn’t 100% yet.

A couple months later I asked Tim what he thought about me starting a crocheting business (AKA, Etsy). The ever supportive hubby thought it was a great idea. Just in time too. We were going to a Patriots game with a group that Tim had been part of for a couple years. At the tailgate we stand around, eat TONS of food, and awkwardly make conversation with people we probably won’t see again. Talking to one of the other wives of the group, she was telling me about her fabulous job that took her around the globe and how annoying it was that sky miles didn’t roll over.

Then the question popped up, “And what do you do?” at first I said, “Oh, well we just got married so I’m being a housewife right now.” She said, “Oh. That’s…nice” and took a sip of her beer looking around. I had to save myself, “And I just started a crocheting business.” She looked at me excitedly and grabbed my arm. “That’s so exciting! What do you make? Have you sold anything yet?”

I felt dirty. I had sold myself out for a Pats tailgate with a woman that I have in fact never seen again and didn’t even sit with at the game. Why? Why did I feel this need to say that I had a job of sorts? Why wasn’t housewife good enough? Why did I care what she thought? When was I going to feel that being a housewife was legitimate and something to be proud of? When we had kids? What if we can’t have kids and I’m a housewife for the next ten years without kin? What was my world?!

It’s been seven months. We’ve bought a house. We have our furry babies. I’m more comfortable saying, “I’m a housewife.” I still get flashes of what people are thinking though. Picturing me on the couch eating chocolates with a martini beside me ordering in Chinese because my mani/pedi took it out of me that day. When is the madness going to stop? When will I feel as though what I do is valid and something I can do because it’s mine and my husband’s decision? When will I stop selling myself out?

Your weekly Emily Post about how to live life in a mannerly way. Let me get my white gloves on to type this 😉 

“Getting along with extended family: Use the same good manners you would use when visiting or hosting people who aren’t relatives.”

I love them, but my family would have failed miserably Miss. Post. Miserably. 

Two and a half years ago I had to break the news to family and friends, “Tim and I decided the commute is too much for him and me. We’re moving to New Hampshire. It’s best for us.” There were tears and there were so many questions, “Where in NH?” “When are you moving?” “Are you ok?” “What will you do?” “What will you DO?” “What will YOU DO?” “What WILL YOU DO?” “WHAT WILL YOU DO?” This question was asked of me over and over again. It’s a fair question and one I would have asked any of my friends or family. At first without thinking I would answer, “Well, first I have to find a place to live and then move us. After that, I’m not sure. Thankfully, we’re lucky, I don’t need to have a job.” Blank stares came back at me, “Yes, but you are going to get a job, right?”

I began panicking a little bit. Did I need a job? Did I have to have a job to be me? I had been working in some form since I was 13. I put myself through college and had been paying all my own bills after graduating from college. Since 2008 I worked anywhere from 40 to 50 hours a week. The point is, I had been working most of my life and worked for literally everything I had. Was I really ready to put all that work in a box on a shelf? Was I ready to have someone else take care of me financially?  We moved in December of 2012 and I didn’t have much time to think it through. Tim was working full time already and I had to move us. I made daily trips to NH for two weeks and one big move (with the gracious help of my parents) one exhausting Sunday. I then had to set up our house while still traveling to Maine to perform in a dance production. It was a crazy couple of months.

After the dance show, after all the unpacking, after all the craziness I was sitting in a townhouse wondering, “now what?” I was a full blown housewife. My sole job was keeping the house clean and keeping Tim and the cats alive. I didn’t know if I was built for this. There are a lot of women and men out there who can work full time jobs and keep a very tidy house. I was not one of those people. I ran a Lysol wipe across the bathroom sink when people came over, I swept up tumble weeds of cat hair across the floor. I did what I could when I wasn’t working, rehearsing, or going out. That all stopped. We lived an hour from Portland. We lived an hour from friends. We lived an hour from everything I had ever known. It was one of my fears. Me, my boyfriend, and our cats. That’s it. What was I going to do?

A few weeks went by and more and more people were checking in and asking, “What are you going to do now that you are all settled in?” A lot of people were worried about me making friends, being bored, and maybe not meeting my potential. One night we sat down to a homemade dinner. Tim asked if I was ok and before I knew it I was sobbing over my steak and couscous. Once I started talking it out I realized something. I wasn’t upset about being a housewife, I was upset because I felt like I had given up. Words kept popping out with me fears. I was lazy. I wasn’t a modern woman. I was setting feminism back 60 years. I was letting my parents down. I was letting Tim down. His parents would never want me as a daughter in law if I was just living off him. I was letting what people thought affect me more than I what I thought.

Poor guy. Tim tried so hard. He had worked all day and now he had to deal with a crying girlfriend over dinner. He kept telling me to…mhhmmm…fudge everyone. He told me that he was fine with everything that was happening. He reassured me that he loved me as much as he did before we moved. I tried to take in everything he was saying, but at the end of the day I had to love myself as much as I did before we moved. I had to be ok with the role I was taking on. I had to block out what I thought society was putting on me. I had to find my new me whoever that looks like. A struggle was ahead of me and I had to find the part of me that was ready to kick its ass. But how?

Your weekly Emily Post about how to live life in a mannerly way. Let me get my white gloves on to type this 😉 

“The Well-Groomed Woman: Hair. No matter your style, well-groomed hair is clean, well-cut, styled, and odor-free.”

Does that mean running a brush through my hair before getting groceries? 

So very Sex and the City beginning isn’t it? Unfortunately, my story doesn’t really include years of crazy sexcapades, cosmos, and brunches with girlfriends on what seems like every day of the week. Don’t get me wrong, when I was younger these were considered life goals. I have since learned that becoming a kicky housewife wasn’t as glamorous as Charlotte’s climb into the job title. I didn’t marry a bald, Jewish, successful divorce lawyer in Manhattan, but I didn’t make out too badly either.

In 2012 I had been dating my love, Tim, for two and half years and we had been living together for two years. We were very much in love and completely happy playing house in Portland, Maine. We were both working full time jobs and went out to dinner and drinks with family and friends on a regular basis. Our happy playing house life started crumbling a little bit by little bit. Tim came home and told me that within the next few weeks he would most likely be laid off from his job as a computer software developer and would have to start looking for a new job. I felt like I was punched in the gut. We were playing house and living the life. How could such an adult problem come into our world?

Sadly, that was just the start. I was born and raised in Maine. I loved it there. The coastline is and was my serenity and my family and friends were my world. Tim was born in Mass and had lived in Maine for about six years. He loved Portland. I thought that Tim could find a job in Maine, easy peasy. I soon learned that it wouldn’t be easy or peasy (whatever that means) in any sense. Tim put it off as long as he could but couldn’t play along anymore, “Babe, I can’t find a software developing job in Maine that would be comparable to my last job. The best places to look are Boston, Seattle, or Houston.” If I thought him getting laid off was a gut punch this was a knock on the ass.

We went through all the options. Had the talk of, “You don’t have to come with me. I understand.” did the whole dance. In my mind not going with him was not an option. How would we do it though? I still had my job, my life in Maine. About three weeks later I had the pleasure of calling Tim to tell him that I had also been laid off due to cuts at work. This made decisions quite easy. Tim would look for jobs in Boston and we would move. What would I do though? What would my job be? I had a degree from the University of Maine at Farmington in psychology. I had worked in the corporate world for almost six years. What was I to do? Look for a job? Get a job in Maine and commute? What?

One night I had a break down. I didn’t know what I was going to do and the idea of leaving everything I had ever known terrified me. I was only 26, I didn’t want to start my life over already. Tim wiped my tears and said, “You know you don’t have to get a job right?” with thoughts racing I blurted out, “Yeah, right. What? Are you going to support me?” without missing a beat, “Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’m asking you to leave your life. Your family. Your friends. Everything. Whatever I need to do to make that easier for you, that’s what I’m going to do.” I know, who is this guy? And no, he doesn’t have any brothers. I was and am insanely lucky.

Tim got a great job in Boston and we compromised and moved to New Hampshire. We were starting from scratch and entering territories we had never been before. Tim was commuting and I was beginning to be a housewife. Our life was starting to look like a Bravo reality show, but didn’t include $500 dinners, shopping sprees at Gucci, and developing drinking problems to deal with life. We were adulting hardcore and didn’t have a manual.

Once upon a time a girl from Portland, Maine was whisked away to New Hampshire to become a kicky housewife. She had two kitties and a husband to look after and take care of. Her castle was a townhouse in Seabrook, New Hampshire and her land was a 8×8 cement slab in their back “patio”. Will she live happily ever after as “just a housewife”? Well, that’s a fabulous question with fabulous answers, thoughts, and solutions to follow.