Tag Archives: Married men are happier according to statistics

Hostage

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As soon as I stepped into the house from a business trip, I heard a moan from a heap at the corner of our sink-and-swim sofa. Shit. I thought to myself.

“Dad was not like this a second ago. He was ok before you came home.” Mr. Monk, my 9-year-old, informed me with mischievous glee.

“So he’s like a little kid? Now that his mommy’s home and all of a sudden he’s feeling a lot sicker because he wants his mommy’s attention?” I babytalked (which I seldom did to my kids even when they were real babies).

I wish I had kept my mouth shut. To this, The Husband launched into an indignant speech about how

1. He’s so sick the whole time I was gone. READ: It’s my fault.

2. There is no medicine in the house. READ: It’s my fault.

3. His throat really hurts. READ: It’s my fault.

4. There is no lemon. READ: It’s my fault.

5. His co-workers said, “Oh, your wife is going to take care of you.” To which he replied, “She doesn’t care. She never takes care of me.” READ: The Passive Aggressive meter was shot so I could not read the score on it.

Sometimes I am convinced that if I were one of those submissive wives, everybody involved including myself would have been a lot happier. So maybe those crazy people do have a point? My natural, confrontation-averse inclination would have led me to simply ignore his tirade. Let’s move on. But my years of immersion in women’s lib made it hard to not stand my ground and make some sort of comment. Eventually I bit my tongue. I bit my tongue because Mr. Monk was watching our interaction like a hawk with bated breath, and I simply could not do that to him. So I swallowed the sharp comebacks that were swarming inside my head.

 

What do I have to do to take care of a grown man who’s suffering from symptoms of a common cold?

I am genuinely sorry that The Husband is sick. But I am stumped. “What do you want me to do to take care of you so I won’t be accused of not caring?” Ok. In hind sight, that’s really not the best way of making a conciliatory move… You can take the sharp words out of a bitch’s mouth, but you can’t change a bitch’s tone of voice.

“Forget about it!” He ended our conversation abruptly like a petulant child sans door slamming. I had to stifle a laugh (and made a mental note to watch The Man Cold on YouTube again and also to, of course, blog about this)

Why is it that when he is sick, he commits the error that men (e.g. he) like to accuse women (e.g. me) of: I am not going to tell you what I want because it would devalue the things you do for me if I have to ask for them. 

Seriously?

This has been how it feels like this past week: I am held hostage by “care police”. At every cough and every moan, I made sure to remember to ask, with exaggerated worry in my voice so my good intention is obvious, “Are you ok?”

 

When the kids are sick, I give them cold medicine, and tell them to stay in bed. I offer ice cream or some other treat. That is it. Sometimes the kids get mad at me when the medicine is not working. “Make it go away!” “Why won’t you give me something that works?” “It does not work. I am still feeling ______!” At that point, I figure they are either hungry or tired so I either feed them or tell them to go to bed, or both.

Now that I think of it, “You don’t care!” seems to be a common accusation. I have only myself to blame since I never do these things that TV/movie parents do – Sitting by the bed and singing them a lullaby. Putting my hand on their foreheads and looking into their faces with concern. Bringing them breakfast in bed on a tray with a red rose in a vase. Maybe I should watch politicians’ campaign videos: most of them got that “I care so much about you RIGHT AT THIS SECOND because the camera is rolling” look down, and practice in front of the bathroom mirror my “I do care” face. Apparently the “I do care” face speaks more volumes than the calm “I just cleaned up your puke without a complaint for the Nth time” face.

 

By the 4th day of violent coughing, the frequent complaint of “It’s not getting better!”, and the occasional hint at “I am so sick and you are not doing anything about it!”, I suggested that The Husband seek out professional help (instead of waiting for me to perform a medical miracle).

I called him from work on Monday. “Did you call a doctor yet?”

“No.”

Face palm.

Today I prodded again. “You should call a doctor.” No response.

Seriously? WWFRGS? (What would Feminist Ryan Gosling say?)

 

In the holy name of keeping a stable home for my children, because it is *MY* job to maintain a happy family environment, I extended an olive branch. “Would you like me to call the doctor? If I call the doctor and make an appointment for you, would you go?”

He nodded.

And he was happy(ier).

 

I want a wife.

 

Just sit down and relax, honey.

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I heard this study that was published this May on the radio today. The headline is:

Men relax best when wives are doing housework chores!

 

My first question was: How is it possible that I did not hear about this until now?! Is the Universe conspiring to keep this earth-shattering news from me?

You are probably thinking: “I need a study to tell me this?” I know. But it is always nice to have your suspicion confirmed by rigorous scientific research.

For starters, the researchers “measured stress hormones and daily activities”, specifically, they “sampled saliva repeatedly to measure cortisol, which increases in stressful situations”, a most objective measurement: so there is no arguing that women only feel more stressed because they bitch about everything and they CARE MORE about whether the dishes are done, the laundry is folded, and the floor is not covered with random objects.

The study was done with researchers observing “30 dual-earner couples in Los Angeles, each with at least one child ages 8-10. Most had two or three children. The average marriage was 13 years and the average age was 41… Over four days, two weekend days and two weekdays, researchers tracked activities at 10-minute intervals.”

And here are the highlights of their findings:

  • For women, healthier cortisol levels resulted when their husbands spent more time pitching in on housework
  • For husbands, more leisure time was linked with healthier cortisol when their wives spent more time doing house-related work and less time in leisure.
  • Men, when they come back home, tend to be alone in a room.
  • Women, when get back home, tend to be with one or more children doing childcare.
  • When women are alone, they tend to be doing housework; When men are alone, they tend to be relaxing.

(Note that none of these families have YOUNG CHILDREN. I can only imagine the discrepancy to be even more skewed between men and women were babies and toddlers present in these households studied)

 

You know what? All my feminist sisters could throw banana peels at me. I am not outraged by the research findings at all. Nope.  Au contraire!

I. AM. ELATED.

Why?

Because I am going to remember this research next time I hear about some other woman talking about how her husband pitches in, 50-50, and then I will not secretly hide in the bathroom and cry.

Because I am normal. I am NOT alone. I am part of the statistics. Part of the cogs that make up normalcy. Like the common stock photos showing a man reading newspaper while his wife vacuums and him lifting his legs up for the vacuum out of consideration.

Kapow! Woohoo! I am doing a happy dance while I survey the disaster zone that is our house and also my weekend project. (If you call housework a PROJECT, you feel more accomplished and less housewifery…)

 

It is truly a relief to know I am simply part of the normalcy.