Retire

v. To give up your regular work once you reach a certain age

There is a standing joke in our house about retirement.  Back when I was young and naive and a workaholic, I promised my equally young, naive, and hard working husband that he could retire at the 20 year mark and I would take over as the breadwinner.  I'd be his sugar mama.

Foolish, foolish Heidi.  Look at her being all independent.  Wasn't she cute?

That was a blissful time in my life where I was gung-ho about having it all.  Then I had a baby and then another baby and then became CEO of our lives.  I make this family run like the rusty well-oiled machine it is.  I never thought I would say these words, or even admit to saying these words, but I am a kept woman and  I like it.  Don't confuse me for the Real Housewives of Anywhere...I do not spend my days with a personal trainer, getting my hair blown out, and bossing around nannies.  I treat my my stay-at-homeness like a job.

But still.....

I have my master's degree for crying out loud.  I had ideas.  I had plans for my life that did not involve creating menus, removing stains, counseling a ten year old boy on the craziness of ten year old girls, or mandatory fun created by the military.  While I still have plans, they are now focused on the PTO's book fair, what soup I am bringing to church Wednesday night, and why my dog has diarrhea again.

And I like it.

So sad. Or is it smart?

I love not having the stress of succeeding.  I love not having to fit one more schedule onto our full calendar. I am filling a need and filling it well, in my biased humble opinion.  My husband knows all this and has always left the decision to stay at home up to me.  He is happy with our life, but he would be equally happy if I were bringing home a paycheck.

When our first son was born, it was easy to quit my job because we were also moving.  Perfect!  And then had another baby, another move, a deployment, another move, lots of TDYs, another move and here I am, with no excuses as to why I am not pulling in money except this one:   I...don't...want...to.

We are a joking couple.  We tell each other to shut up (what!), that the other is stupid (gasp!), and rib each other incessantly, all with a kind tone and not an ounce of meanness.  We do this because we know the other is full of poo and won't take our comments seriously.  It works for us.  About once a week, my husband (with a smirk) reminds me of my promise, especially since we are staring at almost 15 years in the military slap in the face.  This week, the conversation went like this:

J:  So....how are those plans coming along for you to be my sugar mama?  


I pretend I don't hear.


J:  Heidi...I know you hear me...we could only have one more move in our future.  How are you going to support me in my years of retirement?


H:  I am waiting for the next million dollar idea.


J:  I'd settle for the next thousand dollar idea.  How about that, hmmm?    

Smartypants.

The beauty of being a military spouse is how darned easy it is to not have a job.  Unless you work from home, have older kids, or in a profession where moving isn't a deterrent, working is a hassle and one I am not willing to put on my plate right now.  I do not need to work outside the home for my sanity or to pay bills...all valid reasons spouses hold down jobs.

We don't live outside our means.  We don't go on expensive vacations, buy our kids everything, or eat out all the time.  We have adjusted our life so one income works and still save for our future.  I am not suffering by my lack of a life outside my home.  I do however, have to suffer through the weekly reminders that my sugar mama role is rapidly approaching.

Which is why I keep hinting to my husband that we should ride this military gravy train as far as it will take us. Maybe by that point, I will have figured out just what I want to do when I grow up.

Or at least the next thousand dollar idea.