This is the Life: A Blue Collar Housewife

Before I begin, you must understand.
Understand that I am grateful.
Understand that I have a bursting, uncontainable amount of respect for my husband.
Understand that I adore that man, that I see him not only as my best friend, but as the provider for me and our home. We do not make it easily. But we make it, because of him.

And so, I begin.


This is the life of a blue collar housewife.

My mom stayed home with all five of us kiddos until the youngest was in third grade. My dad was a deacon and an editor for the Catholic newspaper in town, and his income was just enough to get by, with a few lovely perks along the way.

Somehow, on a tiny income - tiny by social standards for a family of seven - we had fabulous birthdays, Christmases, and even trips to NYC, Disneyland, and Michigan along the way. We ate homecooked meals, shopped at thrift stores, drove used and paid-for cars, and didn't live excessively.

We were poor. And we were happy.
So, knowing that one could be both poor and happy, the decision for me to stay home when we welcomed our second child was not terribly terrifying.

I always worked. From the time I was 16 and could drive, I worked. I worked through high school, and through college (and through dropping out of college, then re-enrolling, then dropping out, then re-enrolling, then graduating). I have a degree. I have a love for the service industry. I have the desire and drive to work.

But, more than that, I have the desire to raise my children. (Most of the time. I can't lie and say that it's all daisies. There have been many, MANY days where I've yearned for a "real" job and the perks of a paycheck.)

At the time Aidan was born, I had a good job. I was the Training Event Coordinator for the Office of Dispute Resolution for the county. And I really, really liked it. It wasn't the highest paying job, but it was fulfilling.

We talked about me staying home, but I was unsure as to whether I wanted to, and whether it was actually even possible. At the time my husband worked at TNT Fireworks' warehouse. He operated a fork lift, delivered firework stands all over the state, loaded trucks of fireworks, restored broken-down stands, installed area lighting. He did a little of everything, at an hourly wage.

Then, my son was born. And little by little, life (aka God) proved that it was possible.

I still had my job, and went in a few hours here and there, but because my son was born with a terrible umbilical hernia, I felt very uneasy about leaving him. I couldn't put him in daycare. What if it ruptured? What if he wasn't monitored carefully? What if, what if, what if?

And so, I quit my job. It wasn't really my intention, but it became clear that I wasn't going back any time soon.

There we were. My hardworking husband, our two children, and me, a blue collar housewife.

Somehow (aka God), everything worked out, and I have been a stay at home mom for four years now. We have three children, and I'm home with the younger two.

My husband works hard.
He has a different job now, but he's still not salary.
He works with his hands.
He drives a tractor or a loader.
He has found himself at times standing waist-deep in a cow poop lagoon. (To clarify, not for fun. He works with cattle.)
He comes home smelling of sweat and composted manure.
His hands are calloused.
His arms and face and neck are dark. (But that's it. The rest of him rarely sees sun.)
He is strong.
Very strong.

Surprising to corporate America, some men don't want to sit behind a desk.
Their desire to put on plaid khakis and commune on a golf course is low. (Though I bet my husband would love it if he actually gave it a shot.)
They don't care about ties and shiny shoes, fast cars and Rolex watches. (I lied. He does want a nice car. More for me than him. And he wants a motorcycle. He IS a man, after all.)


Some, some men are actually content to be blue collar.
Enter my husband.
He is incredibly smart.
His intuition and wit are unmatched.
He can use any tool, operate any machine, fix anything... without ever having used or operated or fixed it before.
He has to move, to work, to DO.
He has to think on the spot, operate machinery, use his hands and his feet.
He can't put on a suit and sit.
He has moved up, but he will never be white collar.
He strives for higher level management, and someday ownership of some sort.
But he'll never be white collar.
And that's okay, because he's my blue collar man.
And I love him. I'm proud of him. I respect him.
He is... amazing.

So, what does it mean? And why do you care?

Because society has lost it's respect for homemakers.
Society has told women that if you don't work a "man's" job, if you're not able to support yourself, if you stand barefoot in the kitchen, somehow it diminishes your worth.
Society has told us that we can only afford to have one, maybe two or 2.5 children.
Society tells us that we cannot afford to be a one-income family.
It has duped us into believing that both parents working, while limiting family size, is the only route to success.
It has led us to believe that only the wealthy can be homemakers, and that the job of housewife isn't near as fun if you don't have the money to do things. (Thank you, Real Housewives series.)

If this is the case, how are we so happy?

We do not travel. Our vacations generally consist of staying with family members or an occasional hotel night stay.
We don't drive nice cars. In fact, they're less than nice. But they work.
My nails are bitten (bad habit, I know!), and not manicured.
My feet are not pedicured.
My hair gets a salon cut once a year.
We are renters. (Though we will buy eventually, we're kind of gypsies and haven't found the place, yet.)
Our furniture is mismatched, and our appliances are not stainless steel.
We don't have cable. Or a big TV.
If he can't get off work, my husband watches the kids' performances and Christmas programs on video. (That's the part that gets me most, I think.)
We don't have much.

Yet, we have everything we need, and more.

We have fun and cheap vacations - we go to concerts, the zoo, the beach.
We never go hungry. I make every meal, and make sure my family eats fun food, and healthy food, and tries new foods.
We go out to eat, even. Usually once a week after Mass.
I dress pretty nice. My clothes are not designer, but I know how to shop for killer deals.
If I just HAVE to get my nails done, I do.
Our children always have the money to pay for class trips or buy their friends a birthday gift.
Our home is nice and well-stocked. It is peaceful and homey, serene and comfortable.
Birthdays and Christmases are never lacking.
We even get to go on dates, and pay for a babysitter. My husband and I go for sushi. My daughter and I go to the Nutcracker. Dates may not be often, but they do happen more often than you'd think.
I get to go to Hobby Lobby to get craft supplies and make things. (And, if I could just get enough cash together, could actually make that a side job to bring in a little extra income. Someday!)

Yes, we have debt (student loans). We'll pay it off when our kids are older and I go back to work.
Yes, sometimes the fear of what bills we can pay when sets in. But I do not believe is this a blue-collar problem. I believe that, no matter what, money is ALWAYS a stress factor.
Yes, I go stir crazy. I'm an adult, and if I can't figure out cures for stir-craziness, I'm lame, and it's my own fault.
Yes, my kids drive me crazy from time to time. They're children. And I'd trade one thousand hours of them driving me crazy for one moment of seeing them take their first bite of food, or first step, or first trip to the potty, or be there for the first tears after girls were mean at school.

And so, here I am, a blue collar housewife, living a really, really good life.
It's not always easy, but who's is?

I believe that many work because they're afraid that they can't make it.
But here I am, here we are, proof that it's possible.
And oh! is it possible! And worth it!

Being at home takes sacrifice. And partnership.
It takes a husband who is willing to work really, really hard, and miss out on some things in order to provide.
It takes patience on my part, and sometimes loneliness and tears. (I do believe every wife experiences this - regardless of what her husband does.)
It takes knowing that you are not wealthy, and you will not be for a long time, if ever.
It takes buying cheap shampoo and driving old cars.
It takes - THIS IS THE KICKER - putting aside your feminist pride, and being submissive, grateful, and DEPENDENT on your spouse. And trusting and praying that he pulls through.
It takes loving and supporting and respecting him - even, no, especially when he fails.
It takes shopping clearance.
It takes knowing that you may never have your dream house, or nice cars, or the newest phone.
It takes NEVER COMPARING your life to others - ESPECIALLY other housewives. There will always be those who can afford luxuries. YOU are NOT them. It takes understanding that THAT IS OKAY, and life - raising children - is not a competition. It takes knowing and loving and embracing these housewives, too, regardless of whether you can afford to do everything they can. (Remember, all mothers are in it together!)

More importantly, it takes realizing that the ministry of raising your children is the most important ministry on earth.
It takes realizing that no amount of wealth or material things can replace the few short years that your babies are little.
It takes humility, and the strength to say "we can't afford that right now."
It takes having pride in who we are.
It takes character and humor! (Humor is probably one of the more important things in this mix.)

I wouldn't trade my life as a blue collar housewife.
I dream of stilettos and New York City lights, visiting Broadway and a tiny flat in Manhattan.(Insert eye roll from my dad here.)
I dream of opening an art gallery and restaurant.
I dream of publishing a novel, or a dozen. (Which is something that I get to work on at home.)
I have many, many dreams. And most may never happen. But that's okay, because it's my job to enjoy my life, and be grateful for it... and work to mold my children into people who will make THEIR dreams come true!

I'm here to say be proud of your life as a blue collar housewife.
Because you're making it, against all the odds that society has stacked against you.
Enjoy it. Live it. And be grateful for it.

Adios.



Disclaimer: I do not care to hear what you have to say about families whose mothers work. I know these families, and I love them. I know you have to do what you have to do, and what is best for everyone. This post is not about two-parent or single parent or double-income families. It is SOLELY about my being a blue-collar housewife. If you want to comment on two-income families, or single parents, or whatever, then write your own blog and comment on it there. :) Peace!

That Evil Elf on the Shelf

Meet Whimsey, our Elf on the Shelf. 

This is last year, when the first night he showed
up he brought the kids their own tiny
Christmas tree and ornaments.
He's not all bad.

Two Christmases ago, I gave in. Annie was 7. She wanted an elf. Badly. I thought about it, then, on a 'whim" I bought one. All $30 of him. We named him Whimsey. And this is his third year in our house.

I brought him home conflicted. You see, I was raised in a home where my parents never "did" Santa. We never did "North Pole" or reindeer. We never did elves. Our home was filled with traditions, but elves were not one.

Advent Tradition

We had an Advent wreath, and a felt calendar that my mom made. It was made up of 24 pockets, one for each day in December before Christmas. I remember waiting, with eager anticipation, every day to do the Adevent wreath. Not for the prayers. Not because I knew we were going to sing "O Come, o come, Emmanuel." Not because we got to light and blow out a candle (or two or three). I waited... for the candy.

There were five pieces of chocolate or taffy candy (you know the one - the delicious peppermint taffy that is white with red edges and a green tree in the center) in the pocket of the corresponding day. I wanted to be the one to get the candy out! I wanted to be the one to distribute it to my four siblings! I wanted to EAT. CANDY.

This is a tradition I carry on in my home today with my three children. We gather around the Advent wreath. We light the candle(s) for the week. We pray, and we sing O Come, o come, Emmanuel. And my children wait patiently because they know, at the end, they will get a piece of candy out of my homemade felt calendar. It is a beautiful tradition, and one I honor and respect and LOVE about my Catholic Christian home.

And, I know my kids want to do the Advent wreath because of the candy. As they grow older, this will change. They will begin to revere, to understand, to respect (or, God forbid, reject) the reason, the meaning, the purpose. But for now, they will associate Advent with being sweet. And I'm okay with that.

Santa Claus

My parents didn't "do" Santa. They never confirmed nor denied that he (he as in the fat man in a red coat with a flying sleigh and reindeer) existed. They made sure to make certain we knew that "Santa Claus" is a translation of "Saint Nicolas," the saint after whom the tradition of Santa was formed. We never had presents from Santa. Christmas morning each of us had a gift from Saint Nicolas. And one from Baby Jesus.

I carry that tradition on, too. I don't confirm or deny the red man. I've never told my kids that he does or doesn't exist - though I don't lie to my kids. If they ask, straight out, I either evade the truth or give it to them. But I don't ever say that Santa and the North Pole are real. Way I see it, I can't expect them to never lie to me if I lie to them.

That being said, I let them take pictures with the man in the suit when we do "Breakfast with Santa." I let them believe in magic. When they ask, I say something to the effect of "Saint Nicolas was a good man. And he is a living saint in Heaven. He gave to the poor, and I love the magic that stories of him bring to the Christmas season." (except for last year's debacle when I explained that the "magic" Santa isn't real, but Saint Nicolas is. Yeah, that ended in major tears for my eldest, and a complete retraction of what I'd said. Don't judge.)

Evil Elf

But Oh! have I heard comments and read blogs about the notorious "Elf on the Shelf." I've seen different versions - I almost added the Christmas Angel to be Whimsey's friend last year, but then Advent was here, and time and money were not. Thought about it this year, then decided, nah. A Christmas Angel or an elf... it doesn't matter. In truth, I almost added the Christmas Angel because I felt like I'd be deemed less holy or less Christian or less Catholic if I only had our elf.

I read blogs from women that hate the elf because he's creepy (I'll give her that. He is a little creepy at night), or they doesn't feel like messing up and cleaning up - and because kids should have good behavior regardless of whether an elf is watching. Touche.

I read a blog from a Catholic blogger that is totally opposed to letting the little guy in her house because he doesn't encompass anything Catholic OR Christian.

I read blogs from several Catholics and other Christians that say they don't do the elf thing, but will incorporate something similar and more Christian. I think that is a brilliant idea. (In particular, I LOVE the Kindness Elves. Plus, they're way cuter than Whimsey.)
Others can't decide if they want the elf or not.


I was almost jealous when I read this blog, about Wisemen Adventures - where the wisemen try to find Baby Jesus. So fun! Why did I think of that?! But my kids are already attached to Whimsey, so to replace him now would take some careful measures. I think I'll use this wisemen adventure after Christmas, when Whimsey is gone, in the 12 days of Christmas between Christmas Day and Epiphany, to help aid in the joy of Epiphany.  


I understand all those views. And I agree with all of them.

And in all that reading, guess what conclusion I reached? My elf doesn't make my home less Christian. It doesn't make us less Catholic. It isn't good. It isn't bad.  It's just an elf, and we each get to decide which traditions we'll bring into our homes.

Our little guy brings just one more piece of added "WHIMSEY" to our home during the Advent season. We don't focus on the fact that "he's watching and will tell Santa if you're being bad or good." In fact, I've never told my kids that. He doesn't teach my kids how to misbehave. He isn't their "you'd better be good or else" fear factor (which is the main opposition I've found from parents). I don't tell them that he's watching their moves. I don't really tell them anything, actually.

He's just... fun.

Fun Elf

In my home, we do make a point to add Christian Catholic faith in with our little guy. He writes things like "I can't believe it's already time to prepare for Jesus' birthday" and "Happy Advent" and "Honor your father and mother (and siblings)" on his mirror notes and paper letters. He "asks" the kids to pray for him at Holy Mass.

But, even with all that... the elf is just fun!

It is fun for me to find new hiding places. It is fun for me to see thier faces when they discover he threw a "toilet paper party" in the bathroom, and all his little toy friends attended. It is fun for me to dye the milk green and dump out the laundry basket. He's not mean. He's mischevious.

Loosen Up!
I spend SOOO MUUUUCH TIIIIME ALLLL YEAR correcting my kids, yelling at them, making them stay in line and do chores and trying to teach them how to be PERFECT. And, at the end of the year, I just need to be SILLY! In some weird way, this elf is a little reminder to ME to have FUN. To keep my kids children. That a little mischief never hurt anyone. Whimsey helps me let go of my anal OCD, and just let them be kids, and let me have fun putting curiosity and joy on their faces.

Lessons Learned

This stupid elf is a reminder to them (and this lesson is one that I have used several times) that, even when we mess up, we're loved anyway. They see my reaction to Whimsey's mischief. When "he's made a mess", I act disappointed. And then, I say "It's ok. Kids will be kids, and elves will be elves. But you're helping me clean this mess up, because he's YOUR elf..." He's always welcome back. Even last year when he toilet-papered the Christmas tree. No matter the mess, Whimsey is welcome in our home. He's like an example of the prodigal son.. only red, with big eyes and a pointy hat, or something. Okay, maybe that's a stupid analogy, but you get my drift.

Whimsey helps reinforce what I try to teach my kids all the time -  that we love no matter what mistakes and messes are made. We get a clean slate every day. Kind of an important lesson during Advent, as we spend a month in preparation for the coming of our Lord, who died so that, no matter what mistakes and messes are made, we can still experience the joy of the Lord, and the unending celebration in Heaven, because he wipes our slate clean.

That stupid elf reminds us to be CHILDlike... that Advent is a time of fun and joy, and eager anticipation for the birth of Jesus (Whimsey wears a party hat on Christmas Eve. This year, I think he'll leave a gift for baby Jesus. Or possibly have a birthday party for him, with all his "friends" - Barbies, dinosaurs, Little People.).

Whimsey doesn't take the Christ or meaning out of Christmas. He adds to it. And, though he makes a big mess out of some things, he sure does add some fun to my kids' Advent season.

Secular Schmecular

Just like I'll never stop giving my kids candy with the Advent wreath, just like I'll never stop letting my kids Easter egg hunt, just like I'll never stop letting them distribute letters and candy on Saint Valentine's Day, I'll also let Whimsey stick around for as long as their little hearts desire. Because these things help bring added joy and whimsey into these holidays for little minds that are being developed into understanding the TRUE reason for these holidays is Christ and His holy saints... but they are NOT detracting from it.

My children know that Christmas is the celebration of the birth of Jesus. Whimsey doesn't take that away; that creepy little elf adds to the excitement. Just like my children know that Easter is the celebration of His resurrection, and hunting Easter eggs (and looking at that creepy bunny - I'm opposed to the Easter bunny simply for creep factor) adds to the fun of THAT day.

As our children get older, the WORLD will try to suck out their youthful innocence. It will attempt to zap their joy and wonder. The WORLD will kill Whimsey. So, before then, I'll let them have all the fun and believe in all the magic they can. Because they're only little for a little while. And, when they're grown, I am confident that no elf, having one or not having one, is going to form their character.

In the end, regardless of whether you are Christian or Catholic, or neither, I could care less if there is an elf on your shelf. I don't judge your traditions (but I might if they require anything with blood or potions). I don't care if you are Christian, Catholic or not, and you don't incorporate Jesus or Advent AT ALL into your elf tradition. Because, fact of the matter is, it is YOUR tradition.

Please be mindful of the fact that Advent is a time to prepare for Christ Mass, aka Christmas, and respect and honor the birth of Jesus, the Son of God. And that's all.

And, for the sake of all things children, HAVE FUN!



P.S. As far as figuring out whether or not to feel guilty about this elf, I'm over it.

We're all striving for holiness. And until you pray without ceasing, live on only what the Book requires of you, rid your home of anything secular, go to confession at least once a year - but probably more like once a week, have read the entire Bible front to back and back again, have the perfect marriage, never yell at your kids, never spend money on trivial things, never gossip, don't watch or read anything immoral or secular, tithe on a constant basis, do not have pride, anger, lust, envy, gluttony, avarice, or sloth in your life or in your heart... oh, I could go on and on, you don't get to say anything about my elf.

I am ALL ABOUT striving for holiness in every way you know how. And if having an elf on your shelf is going to make you less holy, of COURSE don't get one! But for those of us who do, don't get "holier than thou" on me.

There are MUCH bigger fish to fry. Call me out on my lack of confession, on my overreaction to my kids' behavior, my wandering mind during Mass, the fact that half the time I totally take for granted the mystery and true magic of the Holy Eucharist. Tell me that I should pray more, keep my house cleaner, serve my husband better, strive harder to be a Proverbs 31 woman, get my unhealthy bodily temple in shape. Hold me accountable for my sin. Help rise me up to be holier, better, more loving. Help me laugh more, love more, DO more for my fellow man. 

But, for Pete's sake, leave the elf alone.

Welcome back, Whimsey! Don't do anything toooo bad this year!