I wouldn't say I wear the pants because let's face it - I never have pants on.

I had yet another conversation yesterday with a bank about why they actually wanted to talk to me, and not to my husband. They did not believe me. No, they were sure. Insistant, even, that they could not speak to me. They needed to speak to THE MAN. Fine. So I marched outside, and into the shed, where Sam was mid-project - I don't know what he was doing but his tools were everywhere and there were pieces of wood clamped to other pieces of wood and it was obviously time-sensitive and  he was not pleased to have to stop and talk to someone about something he knows nothing about. "You have to talk to them." I said sympathetically as I handed over the phone. "I told them I was the one they wanted to speak with, but they said they weren't authorized to discuss this with me."

"Christ."

"I know."

Sam: "Hello? Yes, this is Sam." (long pause, blahblahblah we need this specific piece of information that we can only get from you blah blah blah) and finally he just interrupted them "Yeah, wait, okay, yes, but you need to speak to my wife about this. Yes, I DID send in a letter of authorization allowing you to speak with her, It's on file. Yes, sure."

He handed me back the phone, rolled his eyes, and got back to work.

People, every family works differently. In our family, my husband operates in blissful oblivion when it comes to paying the bills, dealing with banks, applying for loans, and running the checking account. He has a credit card, an ATM card, and free rein to grab my tips out of my wallet before he leaves for work in the morning if he needs cash. The banks may aargue about needing to speak with him about his credit card or bank statement...but since I pay the credit card bill and balance the checkbook, they don't really want to talk to him at all. He would be able to give his full name, his date of birth and social security number.....and after that? Nothing.

I deal with the people on the phone. I deal with the forms. I go to the accountant to do our taxes. I sit on hold for hours waiting for some guy in India to fix the cellphone bill. I make the call at 11pm when I realize that I forgot to pay the mortgage and it's due the next day.

I even buy the cars.

Once I was at Safeway right after Lucy was born, and I returned to our minivan (which I hated with a cold hard passion). I went to unlock the door, and it wouldn't unlock. The power locks had become jammed, or were malfunctioning in some other way. So I called AAA, told them to come get the car open, and then walked down the street a block and traded in the van for a new pick up truck. I told them they would be able to appraise it just as soon as they got the doors open. So they sent someone down to the parking lot to wait for AAA while I took the new truck for a test drive and filled out the paperwork. When I drove home 2 hours later, Sami came out to help carry in groceries, and almost fell off the porch.

"What the hell is that?"
"Your birthday present. Happy Birthday. Can you grab the milk? It's getting warm."
"My what?"
"THE MILK."
"My birthday present? Are you insane? How much was that?"
"No, I am annoyed. GET THE MILK. What is the problem? Do I need to tie a fucking bow around the truck? I'm not Bob fucking Barker. Don't worry about how much it was - I took care of it."

And I continue to take care of just about everything that has to do with our money. I don't do it well, but I do it all, baby.

And I really took care of that truck.......