Becoming a mom changed my world in ways unimaginable. I enjoyed every second of it, but the little to no help I got from my husband made things hard. On top of that, when our washing machine broke, my husband’s answer to my demand to get a new one or at least fix that one left me shocked. Honestly, it was a moment that made me question my marriage.
Giving birth was a blessing, but juggling responsibilities became a burden for me because I felt like I was on my own. My husband, who was working, didn’t help around the house. My days were filled with chores and a piles of laundry.
For things to be even worse, the washing machine broke one day.
“Trevor, the washing machine is dead,” I remember telling my husband. “We need to get a new one, or at least fix that one. The piles of baby clothes are all piles up in the basket.”
Trevor looked at me and said as nonchalantly as possible. “Maybe next month, babe, I promised my mom to treat her a vacation with this paycheck.”
Hearing his words made my world spinned. “Treating your mom a vacation? Why?” I asked, still confused and shocked.
“Well, she babysits sometimes, so I guess she deserves it,” Trevor said.
“Babysits!?” I asked, “All she does when she comes here every once in a while is sit on the couch and eat our food. That’s not babysitting.”
But Trevor was determined to spend the money, which we were short on, on his mom.
“Washing the clothes by hand for some time won’t kill you,” he said to me. “People have done it for centuries.”
I didn’t say anything. What could I?
Instead, I did what Trevor told me to because I didn’t want to argue with him. The following day, I did all the laundry by hand and couldn’t stop scratching my hands because of all the soap and the detergents. So, I decided to teach Trevor a lesson.
A couple of weeks later, instead of his lunch, I placed some stones in his lunch box and wrote a note. If he wanted my life to resemble that of the wives of the 19th century, then I thought his should have as well.
The note read: “Men once earned their daily bread with their own hands. Go forge your meal, spark a fire with these stones, and cook it over a flame.”
Well, Trevor’s reaction was just like I have imagined it would be.
When he returned home, he started yelling. “What the hell, Marina. I got so embarrassed in front of my co-workers. Are you insane?”
“What’s wrong, honey?” I asked. “So public humiliation is off-limits when it’s you, but when I’m stuck washing every single piece of laundry by hand, that’s fine with you?
“And if you put your mom’s needs before mine ever again, you better learn how to light a fire with those stones.”
It was obvious Trevor was still mad, but deep down he knew I was right.
The following day, I got my new washing machine and Trevor learned his lesson.
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Bored Daddy
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