Imposter

Homemaking can be a lonely occupation, and depending upon one’s comfort with that sort of quietude and company, the keeper is either buoyed or deflated by the lack of other adult conversation and community. Inevitably, however, most keepers find themselves interacting with the world at large as they tend to bringing in their foods from afar or while out considering vineyards to purchase.

The chat between the homemaker and, say, the cashier (once getting beyond the weather) is usually pleasant enough but it does feel a bit prickly once the question arises of what one does for a living, or how one is getting on. Imagine with me, thus:

Cashier, continuing conversation as she scans the produce: And what do you do?
Moi, as I rummage in my purse for a distraction: Hmm?
Cashier: Are you off work for the day?
Moi: No, I’m a homemaker. I stay home with the children.
Cashier: Ah (commences upon meditation)
Moi: (awkwardly)…I do other stuff though. I write, I do art, I weave…
Cashier: Oh, my aunt was a weaver! (and we are off now to animated conversation)

It’s not that I am deceiving this stranger, but I am purposing to find some semblance of importance in the life work I am doing, an agreement of sorts, that what I am about is honorable. And because my homemaking may come across as either privileged or poorly, depending upon the audience, I seek to lay it down a little lower than say, proudly announcing I am the CEO of some worldwide mission to bring peace, hope and healing to puppies everywhere.

Case in point. I ran into an old friend with whom our children played together in decades past. I was, I admit, quite self-conscious on my end, very waddlely and swollen and pregnant with yet another baby. If you ever dream of running into old friends/roommates/boyfriends, are you also always 15 pounds slimmer with a glistening tan and perfect hair? Anyhow, she had raised her children and was perfectly slim and involved with her career work at this point. The catching up was congenial enough until we got to the point where she kept repeating herself on how urgently needed and Really Important her work was. Although I listened politely I felt she was comparing the outcome of our lives, especially when I got the pat, and we blundered though the rest of our chat, finishing up with, what else, the weather.

So forgive me for faking how wonderfully magical homemaking is at any and all times I am out and about and you ask me what I do. I am not just vacuuming the rugs; I am practicing law when my kids are out of sorts. I am not simply keeping the laundry going (and going and going…); I am managing a complete business with scheduling, finances and goals to meet our vision. And I am not simply stirring a pot or two on the stovetop; I am engaging in nutritional science and adding or taking away foods that affect the health and wellbeing of the nation (oops…I mean, our family).

That all sounds very boosting in morale, but in all honesty, most times running the feather duster simply feels like simply running a feather duster.

So what is wrong with that?

A homemakers may feel at times that she cannot be honest about how difficult, mundane, or unexciting certain parts of her life work is. For if she were to, for example, tell the worker wandering about the aisles who asked how she is and if he can help, that actually, the roast for supper is still half frozen and the youngest three all have green boogers coming out of their heads (don’t worry, she’s sprayed hand sanitizer over all of them AND the cart they are currently sitting in) and—would you believe it—the washing machine just put three inches of water all over the floors which is why she is here looking for parts to fix the thing….

Well, you can see how that doesn’t seem to elevate the whole “stay at home” gig. So her response, in reality, is “fine” and if you’re lucky she’ll add with a pasted on smile, “And how are you?”

Homemakers who are happy to do so (make a home, that is) generally do not want to deceive anyone over those harder aspects of their life work, but rather find themselves in a position of having to justify a work that is degraded in much of our culture, especially if a university degree gathers dust someplace in the house (who knows where that went…). Unlike the commiseration my career friend might receive for workplace disasters, the disasters I have to attend are met with a type of shruggy smugness smelling an awful lot like having to sleep in the bed I made.

So it’s not that I’m faking the persona of a “Happy Homemaker”. Rather, I am content with my audience of One regardless of my emotional state, and He is pleased with my walk, knowing that all of my good work is fruitful. There is folly in exalting any man’s opinion of the matter, as though our homemaking efforts are failures unless that person, those people, are pleased with our efforts and especially our results. The Really Important Work is this: to do every work according to His will, to trust in the gospel while we do it, and to do those things that are pleasing in his sight. As it turns out, even if it feels like we’re home running the mop alone, the Holy Spirit never leaves us, and I cannot think of any better company than Him.

Blessings,