Displaced Homemaker

Recently, while crossing the border into Canada I was faced with a simple, straight forward question and I buckled.

I suppose it is important to know that as soon as we start our approach to the border, suddenly I feel like a criminal. I feel as if the skis and luggage we are attempting to "smuggle" into the country are forbidden and if we somehow get pulled over we are going straight to the interrogation room where they will proceed to question both my husband and me separately as if one of us will crack under the pressure and confess that we are indeed smuggling fancy panties into a foreign land.

A few cars away from the front of the line and tension in the car can be cut with knife. Giggles are forced when the kids ask why it is taking so long because I giggle when I'm nervous. Finally Bob confesses that he too feels like he has committed some heinous crime and is attempting to escape to Canada to live in seclusion for all eternity.

And, yes, we were both completely dramatic about it because it is an involuntary reflex upon getting within a mile of the border patrol. Actually, the force of sudden onset of guilt at the border is so powerful it leads us to continue talking about it well into the next year after we've finally recovered from our attempted escape into said foreign land.

Anyway, on our most recent trip after finally getting to the border patrol officer going into Canada we were eased. She seemed pleasant. She was direct but courteous. And then the question came.

"What are your occupations?"

Simple, harmless question, right? But one neither me or my husband has been asked so it threw us both for a loop. My able bodied husband, answered with confidence, Plumber. Me? I was confused. Because what is my occupation? That question has an answer I don't really know the answer to. I mean, technically (and by technically I mean the job that actually has a paycheck) I am a Consultant except being a Consultant means that work is sporadic and technically I have two small jobs I am working on but that work does not require me to obtain daycare for the kids, so, technically, I am a stay at home mom, too. Although, I figured that answer would have ended me up in the interrogation room, sweating because my fancy panties were about to be exposed.

So I said, "I am a Homemaker."

Just like that.

What the heck? Is this 1950? I don't even know what a Homemaker is let alone what one does to actually make ones home.

Luckily for me and my fancy panties the border patrol officer said, "Oh, so you stay home?"

"Yes, exactly!"