Mom in the Mirror

Bonding by the light of a propane flame

I've lived in North Carolina for 15 years, but just recently experienced Southern hospitality for the first time. It took a severe ice storm and the frigid fallout for me to realize how powerful the connection between neighbors can be.

My husband and I have enjoyed a very pleasant relationship with the couple next door, particularly in the three years since their daughter was born.

We have shared backyard barbeques and swapped Saturday night baby-sitting. Our kids have attended each other's birthday parties and exchanged small holiday gifts. And we've passed teething stories and hand-me-downs back and forth freely. But it wasn't until last week that we truly became friends.

When we began preparing for our move to another state, we made a special effort to let them know how much we cared, and how much we would miss them. In fact, to ease the transition for them and for us, we contemplated allowing them to adopt our cat, who shuttles back and forth between our houses constantly.

The dilemma about whether Christopher Robin (our orange tabby) should stay with them or leave with us intensified as packing day approached. And then, it was suddenly decided.

The temperature dropped, the snow fell, the power lines froze over, and our cat was curled up on one of their beds to make his cozy home for the night. Within a few days, we would do the same on their living room couch.

While millions of North Carolinians were living without the modern conveniences, we found ourselves fortunate enough to live next door to a family that was stocked for the apocalypse.

They had tapped into their gas line and were ready with a small furnace, a huge camping stove, a 40-gallon propane tank and hot water.

Far from hoarding their good fortune, they wanted to share it. In fact, they needed to share it. It would have been unconscionable to them to appreciate the warmth while others nearby were cold.

For us, so accustomed to being independent, it was difficult to accept such tremendous and essential assistance. Nevertheless, after some gentle prodding, we relished the comfort of hot food and showers and spent a candlelit evening enjoying the camaraderie.

Spending the night under the same roof (when we could have been freezing under our own) thawed some protective barrier that we weren't even aware separated us.

I now believe low fences make good neighbors. There should be some recognition of where the boundaries are -- what lawn you mow, what garden they tend, when it's OK to come over and chat and when to stay away -- but the boundaries should be permeable, not permanent.

I've learned this lesson just in time to apply it to our new neighborhood.

One of the first things I did upon arriving at our apartment in Florida was seek out the family that lives downstairs. As it turns out, our good luck with neighbors is holding. The single mom beneath us not only gave me the real scoop on the pet policy and the laundry room, she introduced me to her sons, a third- and first-grader who go to the same school that mine started the following day.

The boys were instant friends, and there is no doubt we will have much to share in the future, including a new neighborly vehicle for me: carpools.

Along with my other mementoes and memories, I am bringing some North Carolina hospitality to the Sunshine State. And while I didn't leave my heart in Durham, I did leave my cat, and I'm counting on him to extend a neighborly paw to the family that moves in next door.

This LifeFiles column originally appeared on about 70 TV station websites managed by Internet Broadcasting Systems.

My husband is my wife

As a working mother, I often hear female friends and colleagues say they need a wife. I nod and try not to blush when I confess that I have one: my husband.

We celebrated our seventh wedding anniversary this month, an occasion marked by the realization that at some point in the years since we married we switched sides.

I didn't notice at first. He did the cooking because he loved to. He experimented with sauces and food combinations and even made vegetables so edible that I was enjoying them regularly for the first time in my life. I could barely boil water and had no desire to learn.

He did the grocery shopping because he knew what he wanted on hand for his special style of making meals. I bought the wrong rice -- who knew there were so many kinds?

He did the laundry because he liked his shirts treated a particular way that I couldn't seem to get right.

He took our son to day care, then later to school, because his schedule was more flexible than mine.

In short, he did it all because he did it better and was better able to do it. Sound familiar?

It occurred to me that we had completely reversed roles as I was telling someone I had just met about our household division of labor.

"He does all the grocery shopping, cooking, the laundry. He shuttles our son around, he even picks up my dry cleaning," I said proudly.

And then it dawned on me. If I were a man describing a woman this way, most people would consider me sexist and selfish. So, why is it acceptable for a woman to allow her husband to shoulder the load so completely? Why is one scenario chauvinistic and the other liberated?

Is it really fair to ask someone to give so much, whether that person is a man or a woman? Isn't a marriage a partnership? How can two people be partners when one is carrying so much more of the load?

I guess my answer is that we all have our burdens to bear, and even though mine is not the traditional one, that doesn't mean it isn't just as heavy.

I'm too grateful to resent my husband for perfecting a role I can't even contemplate, but there are many days when I would love to change places with him.

I race from one responsibility to the next, while he lingers over coffee in the morning, playing solitaire.

He has time to be patient, attentive, and an exceptional listener. I e-mail with friends constantly in fits of abbreviated shorthand that only we can decode, but I rarely see them. He spends long periods on the phone with friends he occasionally meets for lunch.

I shop from catalogs, the Internet, in airports. He spends the afternoon going from store to store looking for shoes, a shirt, a pair of pants.

He also has his limits. He doesn't clean the house, buy presents for anyone but me, send holiday cards, pay bills, or enroll our son in classes, camp or soccer. When it comes to logistics, I'm still the keeper of the calendar.

He has been able to pursue his professional goals by freelancing, something that wouldn't be possible if not for my lucrative career, which his support makes possible.

And he cherishes the time he has with our son, who has a role model unlike any other. Our son has no idea that in other houses, the mom is the one serving up the homemade biscuits while the dad calls to say he's running late.

Still, at the end of the day, when I walk through the door, my husband always asks how my day was and I always ask what's for dinner.

In our family, my husband gets to bake his cake and eat it, too, and I'm happy to consume whatever crumbs are left. Maybe someday he'll share his recipe with me and I'll learn the secret ingredient to being a better spouse.

This LifeFiles column originally appeared on about 70 TV station websites managed by Internet Broadcasting Systems.