On a good day, I fancy myself Donna Reed or Doris Day. I do my hair and makeup, don a dress and apron, and flutter around my house making it beautiful.
It makes me happy. A clean and organized house makes me happy. My family drooling over what I made for dinner makes me happy. But being happy and making my family happy doesn't exactly pay the bills.
Since the day I stopped working outside the home (daycares don't allow teenagers, regardless of their disabilities) I've felt somewhat guilty that I don't contribute financially to our family. Sure, I sell books and even sometimes make more than a few dollars on my royalty checks, but that doesn't exactly keep a house afloat. But is the guilt rational? Is this something I've been ingrained with because of societal demands? What happened to having respect for those men or women who stayed home and ran the household? Why is it when I tell someone I'm a housewife, I immediately follow it up with "but I'm an author, too", as if being a housewife isn't a good enough "job"?