I'm Not a Stepford Wife, and I Think That's a Good Thing

Update on Husband: As he is in generally good spirits and feeling pretty well, Husband and I had a date last night -- probably the last date night out for a long time. We got the kids a pizza to eat at home in front of a movie, and then the two of us snuck off to our favorite Chinese buffet, where Husband made wiser eating choices than usual (I, on the other hand, couldn't resist the honey shrimp and those wonton wrapper things full of cream cheese, crab, and spring onion). At the end of the meal, my fortune cookie delivered a pearl of timely advice: "This is a time for caution, but not for fear."

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I've decided to divide my blog posts this way, with an update on Husband's progress at the top so those who want to know how he's doing can do so easily without wading through the miasma of my own obscure observations on whatever pops into my head and tells me (however falsely) "THIS would make a good post!"

The last couple days have reminded me a lot of how I felt several years ago. I went through a depressing period of wanting to be a Stepford wife. Do you remember that movie? Sure, there's the more recent version with Nicole Kidman and Matthew Broderick (hello, pre-teen crush!), but the older one was more frightening. In case you don't know what I'm talking about, here's a brief synopsis: a couple move to the town of Stepford. They're somewhat in crisis, and the wife gets to know some of the other wives in town. She notices odd things after a while about the women. They all seem perfectly content, and from a male perspective, like model wives. It turns out the men of the town are getting rid of their pesky, individualized women and replacing them with robots, who are perfect in every way.

Now stop laughing so hard. Yes, that IS a movie.

So, anyway, I spent a while wishing that I could completely subsume my own desires and needs in order to feel no tension between what I wanted and what I needed to do for everyone else. If I could become a Stepford wife, I reasoned, conflict would vanish and I would be serenely content to see to everyone else's needs with no thought of my own. I set about to become this model woman.

AND FAILED MISERABLY!

Turns out, I can't turn myself into a robot. Who knew? But it was part of the path that led me to where I am, which is learning the art of balance and that I am just as important as everyone else.

The last few days, as I've pondered what it will take to be a caregiver and nurse to my husband as he undergoes chemotherapy and the subsequent recovery, mom to six children with somewhat hectic schedules, write the articles that bring extra and necessary income into the house, and keep our home as clean and sanitary as possible, I found myself wishing to become a robot again. The final straw landed on my back when I realized I'd now given over my blog, my precious little real estate of me, to updates about cancer. I don't resent keeping everyone informed, of course, but it occurred to me that I would end up resenting the idea that the only reason I could justify writing this was to have people read about Husband's cancer. I know, it's a horrifyingly selfish thought, but this time around, I am a little more wise. I examined the anger and guilt and identified the underlying cause. Then I set about again finding a balance between my needs and the needs of my family. I think I've come up with a schedule that will allow me to get my exercise (which I dearly love and which I've been missing) and accomplish just about everything else. There will definitely be days I don't get to make a check mark against everything on my list, but I'll try my best and forgive the rest.

My husband, bless his heart, doesn't want me to quit the choir I love so much, either. I look forward to those two hours every week with a passion I find surprising. I love the challenge of the music, the ability to blend my voice with others into a tapestry of sound. It's like getting eight hours of refreshing sleep to spend that time singing.