Just Shy of Hallmark

The old adage, "Self-employment means working 80 hours a week for yourself so you don't have to work 40 hours for someone else" rings true in our house, more often than I would prefer.  One of my worst battles in our upholstery journey is the war between family togetherness and success...because I often feel like a single parent in order for that success to flourish.  And this introvert craves breaks that go well beyond the two-hour, child-free doctor appointments that act mostly as a bandaid on a bleeding artery. 

 I am not trying to complain.  I love my husband, though I've never considered myself to be a clingy person.  Prop me up in front of a book, and I'm content for hours with zero social interaction.  However, throw a few night-waking, early-rising, forever-fighting children into the mix during a week when every fixture in the house seems cursed by Murphy's Law, the grocery supply dwindles (in stark comparison to the dishes in the sink that have succumbed to the Quiverfull movement), and each "Payment Due" date jumps out of the calendar like a starving lion, combined into a toxic brew of husband-consuming customers expecting their furniture to be stamped out like a factory (and priced like it, too), and I find myself tempted to run to the upholstery shack, slam the door, and initiate some real adult conversation.  Usually something mature and articulate, like:

"Hello, Love.  Just wanted you to know:
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUGGGHH!!!
I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE!!!
See you at supper...I hope."

 Just a thoughtful token of expression to let him know I really care.

On the days weeks when a time crunch demands his absence dawn through dusk, the battle for harmony in our home can climax into a real blood bath.  Pacifists like me don't handle mealtime wars very well.  More often than not, I'm tempted to raise two bowls of maple syrup-laden oatmeal in a white flag of surrender to my children's preferential eating habits, and then leave the room so the sounds of their open-mouthed chewing don't grate on me like the gourmet cheese I wish we could afford.

Sometimes I feel selfish and wonder if I am the only woman with this struggle.  I know I am not, but I always hesitate asking, for fear of sounding ungrateful.  I know there are widows, soldiers wives, and women with lacklustre spouses who would view our situation as pure cake.  And I know my husband works hard for us, loves us, and keeps us afloat.

But I still struggle.  Commonly, when I am asked how the upholstery business is treating us, an honest response of "Great, though overwhelmingly busy.  We've hardly seen each other all week," is always met with the immediate reply, "Well, busy sure beats the alternative!"

Fabulous.  I had completely forgotten my near panic attack last time the mortgage was due and the phones had been painfully silent for weeks.

Like most modern-day women browsing websites for information and calling it "research," I did try to google for answers once, hoping to hit upon a sympathy blog or perhaps a snarky little tidbit to make me laugh.

I typed:  "wife of self-employed husband"

Top ad?  "Stop Your Divorce!"

No kidding.

Don't get me wrong, I really do love our business.  When I think of my husband going to work for someone else, it feels so wrong.  And when I think of not having an endless supply of free fabric scraps at my disposal, it feels downright sinful.

There is just this selfish, immature little part of me that craves for a sense of understanding from the outside.  A validation that feeling so beat down from woman-powering the daily grind alone, from spending hours tripping over toys and tots to whip up a halfway delicious feast...only to have an appointment-challenged customer pull in the driveway the second we all sit down to dinner, or from everyone's cars, trucks, snow plows, mowers, blowers, chainsaws, weed whips, furniture, and appliances taking precedence every Saturday when it feels like this old house is crumbling to the ground with every tumble of the toddler, really is a legitimate reason to feel overwhelmed or insignificant.

When I am too exhausted to formulate a prayer other than "Help!", I sometimes feel like my spirit prays and refreshes me when I am at my absolute worst.  If there is one thing we are discovering along this pathway we are attempting to carve, it is that God will take care of us, many times in ways more nail-biting and painful than we'd rather endure, but also in ways more cry-your-heart-out meaningful than we could ever imagine.

This is a card we received in the mail, the very next day after one of our late-night "vomit sessions" (a typical spill-our-guts conversation after a period of high-stress.  Fantine [Les Mis] was right...the tigers really do come at night.  Mine happen to come around 2 a.m.).

The card was addressed to the handsome upholstery guy, from a man whose mower he occasionally repairs.  Quite a few months ago, he had spent a Saturday repairing the mowers of a needy family this man knew.  The cover of the card says:

Thank You

The goodness

and generosity

you share so happily

are wonderful reminders

of the true meaning

of God's love.

The inside script:

Thank you for being

the blessing you are

to all who know you.

Inside were two gift cards to a family restaurant, along with a handwritten note:



"Just a token of love to share for you & family.  The card says it all, what a Blessing.  The reason I said family is because there has to be times your wife has "lost" you hrs. on end, due to you helping out others.  The [P_____'s] are a good example of how you went out of your day to help me, help them out, fixing the steering on their riding mowers.  So no excuses, you & family go out & enjoy the day."

And so tonight, we made no excuses.  The upholsterer and his wife shut off the cell phone, locked up the house, and drove our little family of four out to dinner.  We sat in an isolated corner and ordered our kids pancakes and chocolate milk.  We let them drink the syrup straight from the little personal bottles.  We reached across the table to sample each other's food.  We allowed ourselves the grace to enjoy each other's presence without feeling the need to leave the room or jump up and serve the entire world.

And while my grilled chicken salad was only a bed of boring iceberg lettuce and the yellow-dyed cheese less than gourmet, the peace of validation for togetherness felt like pure success.