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Rhythms of a Household
March 3, 2011 by The Next Family
Filed under Shannon Ralph
By: Shannon Ralph
In a gay or lesbian household, there is no “woman’s” work or “man’s” work. There is simply work that must be done. People will absurdly ask who the man is and who the woman is in our relationships. Such an asinine question. What does it mean to “be the man” when we are both quite obviously women? That has never made sense to me. If I mow the lawn, am I the man? If I bake a cake, am I the woman? If I know how to wield a hammer, am I the man? If I cry, am I the woman? Such idiocy. I am fairly certain that it would take a little more than a short haircut to make a man out of me. So why do people feel the need to pigeonhole us? Why must one of us be the man in order for our relationship to make sense?
Around my house, there are jobs I do that may have been historically relegated to men. But I also do quite a bit of work that has been considered “woman’s work” for years. I guess you could say that Ruanita and I are both butches. And we’re both fems. Actually, I would say that we are neither, really. I once had a coworker ask me point-blank if I considered myself a butch or a fem. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but it struck me as the weirdest question I have ever been asked. I don’t really consider myself either one. I don’t see much of a need for labels for myself or for my relationship. Why can’t I just be Shannon? I am Shannon, plain and simple. And I love Ruanita, plain and simple. We are two women who fell in love and chose to make a life together. Plain. And. Simple.
I was marveling just yesterday at the patterns and rhythms Ruanita and I have developed after thirteen years of living together. Not having traditional gender roles to guide us, we had to figure out our own delegation of chores. Our own roles in this relationship. Through the past thirteen years, we have managed to do just that. There are no questions anymore. We each have our jobs we are responsible for completing. Perhaps we chose these jobs. Perhaps they chose us. Perhaps they were thrust upon us against our will, kicking and screaming the entire way. However it happened, we each know what it is we do. And we have becomes experts at the tasks we handle. Here is a sampling of the rhythm of our household:
I drive everywhere we go, in part due to my (borderline) control-freak nature. Ruanita is the ever-present, ever-vocal, ever-critical passenger.
I cook. Ruanita washes the dishes. Sometimes I will linger in the kitchen after dinner, attempting to appear as though I might help. In the end, however, we both know that I will retire to my favorite chair in the living room and surf the web while she cleans up.
I pay the bills. Ruanita prefers to be obliviously ignorant of our money situation.
Ruanita kills all bugs. I handle any and all hairy critters.
I buy all of the kids’ clothes. Ruanita (the fun mom) buys most of the kids’ toys. Oh how they love when I come home from Target with nothing in my bags for them but new underwear!
Ruanita washes all of our laundry. I fold it and put it away (after it sits in a basket for a few days, developing deep wrinkles that can’t merely be “shaken” out).
On a related note, I do not not iron. Nor does Ruanita. We simply walk around in wrinkled clothes, looking like vagrants. We rock the vagabond couture.
She mows the lawn. I plant and tend to all of the flowers and other “pretties” in the yard.
I am responsible for anything that requires assembly. Ruanita, wisely, leaves the room and stays out of my way, lest she be bludgeoned to death with a hammer.
She takes care of all repairs and maintenance on the cars. I turn up the radio when I hear an ominous-sounding noise.
I handle anything and everything remotely electronic. Ruanita asks our eight-year-old son how to use the television remote.
She plays My Little Ponies with Sophie. I play Mario Kart with the boys. She tends to encourage imagination-building games. I stare mindlessly at beeping dots on the television screen with my sons while drool forms at the corners of our mouths.
I schedule and attend almost all doctor/dentist appointments with the kids. Ruanita, somehow, gets to avoid holding the kids down for immunizations and strep tests. I’m not sure how that happened, but it may be a chore-delegation discussion I will want to revisit in the very near future.
Ruanita cleans the toilets. I do not. Nor do I do windows. Nor empty the dishwasher. Nor dust. (Okay…I readily admit that I suck in the area of domesticity.)
I do Lucas’s homework with him. Ruanita mostly gets to avoid the hell on Earth that is reading with my barely literate (and literature-loathing) second grader.
Ruanita plays Play-Doh with the kids. For the most part, I find Play-Doh and the unavoidable mess it creates to be affronts to my anal nature, and I refuse.
Ruanita makes the beds. I don’t see the point since we are just going to climb back in them in a few short hours. (Yes, Play-Doh mess bothers me. Unkempt beds do not. What can I say? I am a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma…or something equally annoying.)
I do any and all painting in the house. Ruanita is not allowed to go near a paint can. Monet, she is not.
I open all beer bottles for Ruanita. She opens all jelly jars for me. I prefer not to venture a guess as to why I can open a beer bottle like a veteran bartender, but do not have the dexterity to open a jelly jar.
I do all of our grocery shopping. Ruanita stays home with the kids so I can sip my latte and shop in peace.
I plan all of our social events and force them upon Ruanita. She begrudgingly complies. Sometimes.
Ruanita works full-time and makes more money than I. I work part-time and spend more money than she.
Ruanita vacuums. I forget how to turn the vacuum cleaner on. Honestly, I have no freaking clue where the “on” button is.
I bake cookies, cakes, and pies. Ruanita eats cookies, cakes, and pies.
Ruanita knows where every single thing in the house goes and has an item put back in its place before I am even finished using it. I, on the other hand, know where nothing is and constantly have to ask Ruanita to help me find things. Her catchphrase when I can’t find something: You. Have. To. Look. My response: Shut the hell up and tell me where it is!
These are the rhythms of our household. These are the patterns we have constructed that have, in turn, created the home we dearly love. It’s amazing to me how we have worked this all out. Through years of trial and error—lessons learned and barriers overcome—we have become a cohesive unit. Everything gets handled. Every task gets accomplished. Neither one of us is “the man,” but our grass still gets mowed and our cars get serviced and our beer bottles get opened. Perhaps there is no need for one of us to be the man, after all? Perhaps—and I may be getting a little crazy here—two women can do just fine on their own. Two women can love one another and create a home together. Two women can start a family together. Two women can live happily ever after.
I am proof positive.
.
.
[Photo credit: Muyfifi]
This is beautiful! I love it. (And I’m with you when it comes to both play-doh and bed making.)
I often wondered how gender considered roles were delegated in gay households and have talked with Brandy about this. It seems you and Ruanita are relatively adept at all things but just don’t like to do some things (like most people). But what would a home look like if your were both girly girls with no interest in household shit. Then how would it be divided? I use to say to my ex husband that no one wants to do the “shit” work so we got a housekeeper for that work. The other tasks mostly were controlled by me because I wanted it that way. I would assume that most gays homes look just like mine with those doing what they like and hoping everything gets done or if one is more into “Male butch roles ” they become lesbian dads (pointed out to me by Heather) and if others are more “female oriented” and like kids better they do the parenting rolls more and make more decisions about the kids activities. I believe it all works relatively the same with those that work full time and where one stays home they become the “mommy” and their partner more the “daddy” as defined by the old 50′s standards. Loved this Shannon. Your writing always captures me.
“Ruanita vacuums. I forget how to turn the vacuum cleaner on. Honestly, I have no freaking clue where the “on” button is.”
How true — our vacuum has a fancy hose to do steps, but the won’t work when it’s not attached — or so I now know…
After 10 years, most things have settled into who does it best. But what do you do when neither mom wants to do it?
My parents used to ask me that about any gay/lesbian couple. I don’t know of any straight couple that has truly traditional gender roles any more. Drives me crazy that it’s still considered an acceptable questions to ask.
Shannon, always the amazing author! I love to read your thoughts put to paper. You have a way of putting into words all of the things we all think about or have to do (the tedious nothing things) and make it seem so entertaining and funny.
I know I own an iron… but haven’t used it since Gary and I moved to this house, and before that even!
Some of your observations are equally applicable to my current situation. Gary is the “stay-at-home” Dad. I absolutely know he has the harder job! When I told my Dad that Gary was quitting his job so that we could have a bit more balance, he freaked out. “It’s just different for a man.” No, not really. I COULD NOT do what Gary does. This works well for us. To hell with what is considered societal norms. This is our normal, and it works pretty well.
Rosie-I am so glad you are reading my blogs! I think it’s wonderful that Gary is a stay-at-home-dad. I have another friend who is in the same situation. She’s a college professor and her son stays home with their son. I think it’s wonderful that families are changing and that we’re creating new norms. We rock!
Ruanita read this article this morning and called me at work to let me know I neglected to say that she changes the cat litter, too. So let it be known on the official record (since we are apparently keeping score) that Ruanita also changes the cat litter, something I have done maybe twice since we got our beloved Molly.
Cat liter check for Ruanita.
Thanks, Madge, for making note. My domestic suckiness knows no bounds.
CKW–Good question. In my house, if neither of us wants to do it, it simply doesn’t get done. Neither of us likes to carry out the recycle. As a result, we have no less than 15 or 20 grocery bags full of soda cans stacked taller than me our basement laundry room. True story.
Heather–You’re right. I don’t know many couples, gay or straight, who adhere to traditional gender roles anymore. I love your parents. But I can see you going all red-headed ballistic on them when they innocently ask you that question.
Leenata–Thanks! Love you, chickie!
Great article Shannon! I’m so glad you addressed this topic. Similar to your “who’s the man” question, people ask us who the dad is!! It drives me a bit nuts. Thanks for writing!
I like your story but everyone runs their household diffrently and we run our as a butch and fem marriage with nine children and do like it this way. I dont think others are so bad for asking questions on how same sex couples may run their lives, i perfer education.
@ Dorthy- Nine children? Wow! I’d like to hear more about that!
The questions “Whos the man, Whos the woman” is understandable in my book because people who are unawear of same sex couples dont talk our lingo or understand how to ask questions. I find that after teaching people who come in my life about my Life partner and our family what an open mind they start to have by learning. I am a fem women and have gave birth to two children, my honey is a butch women and has gave birth to three children, we have adopted four children and dont even think of asking who is not full blood in this family cause not us, the parents, but our kids will have lots to tell ya for even asking (lol). Im very proud to say the range of children is 23-11yrs. that part is for Brandy
@Dorthy-would love to hear your story.
I can totally relate. Isn’t it great to be lesbian and (most of the times) get to pick your activities instead of having them forced onto you by gender? Besides, why should men have all the fun?
Oh, and I’m the one who cleans the cat litter. But if I ever get pregnant, that’ll have to change!
@ Madge, thanks for asking to hear about our story…We started living together in 1999, at that time my partners birth children were ages 1,3,6 and they had no other parent, my children were 11 and 7. Our new baby came along out of the blue at 2mos old my sister gave birth to her and we could’nt let her leave the family so we adopted her as our daughter. A yr later we got our other daughter at age 6 and our two boys three yrs later who were at the time ages 14 an 16 yrs.(they have a story in its self). We have a daughter who is graduating ssu this year and another high school, five children still live at home and im an at-home-mom. My partner provides for all of us, we help the ones who do not live at home anymore also. I’m not sure what eles to say but please feel free to ask if you are curious about anything more.
Dorthy-Your family sounds amazing! My three kids put me over the edge sometimes. I can’t imagine nine! You are a stronger woman than me.
WOW Dorthy. You both must have your hands full. SO glad you are commenting on this site. We will enjoy your comments.