“I clean my man’s uniforms and iron them if need be!”
“I clean my man’s uniforms, iron, AND wash his boots!”
“I clean my man’s uniforms, iron, wash his boots, and cook him anything he wants!”
I tried not to roll my eyes.
Why did I join these groups?
I was on a Facebook group for military spouses and a question was asked on what the spouses did for their military men (or women.)
It seemed like each person was trying to outdo one another.
I tried to back away from the screen. Sometimes I practically have to sit on my hands not to write something snarky. It’s very hard for me, people.
Like when people write ‘your welcome.’ It happens on a daily basis on Facebook. I always want to type *you’re under their comment but I imagine the person would get all offended even though that's not my intent.
I also want to write comments when the crunchy parents post status updates on not feeding babies rice cereal or how disposable diapers damage their skin. Sometimes I have a comment all written up but I force myself to delete it. (“BOTH my kids wore Luvs and never had an issue!” I once wanted to post.)
“Everyone is different,” I’ll remind myself even though sometimes the way the crunchy mothers share their stuff seems a tad condescending. (I said sometimes. I know very friendly crunchy mothers who would never make another mother feel bad for their choices..)
Anyway, I wasn’t able to say nothing on that military Facebook posting.
“My husband deals with his own uniforms. I wash his regular clothes but he takes care of his uniforms. I wouldn’t go near his boots. They stink. I’ve also never ironed a day in my life. My husband irons his own stuff.”
This was followed by an aghast comment.
“WHAT? You’ve NEVER ironed? As my husband’s wife, I gladly take care of his stuff!”
My response? “My daughter got a toy ironing board for her birthday once and thought it was a bed for her dolls.”
Her response? “Is that supposed to be funny?”
Then she didn’t say anything else. I think she was appalled that there was a military man out there who had to take care of his own gear. The horror.
But really, my husband has never asked me to deal with his uniforms. Mainly because he’s worried if I ironed them that I’d burn them and because he has these things called hands and just because he works, it doesn’t mean he gets to sit back and do nothing at home.
But some wives don’t seem to grasp this.
They can go make elaborate meals for their men. I’ll continue to make Sloppy Joes and Corn Dogs. Without guilt.