Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Husband training

The poor guy, my husband. No matter what he does, he's made to feel like he can always do more. I really try to say thanks for doing the dishes (whilst thinking in my head, "for ONCE this week!"), give him extra hugs when it's quiet, (whilst thinking, "if you have quiet time, shouldn't you be doing xyz?") and sing his praises. He tells me he lives in constant fear of my wrath. Half sarcastic, half truth.
Now, any married woman knows there is a necessary amount of husband-training that goes on. Those husbands who come domestica-ready and prepare fantastic meals, clean up after them, keep the house well-swept AND make succulent romance are a myth, I'm convinced. My model came from a home where socks got picked up, laundry done, and meals made, all by some magic, unappreciated fairy. In my house, balance is sought by this A-type Libra: balance in household duties, balance in effort to maintain cleanliness, balance in effort to keep flame of passion alive in spite of cloth diaper piles and squash splatters on wall.
He does try, and in these short years, where months can pass in the blink of en eye, he has made leaps and bounds in becoming helpful, not to mention self-sufficienct. (Though we are still working on lessons like "remembering to eat lunch" and "take your daily vitamin, er, daily".)
It's a fine line, as you see, to naviagte the path of husband-training while desperately avoiding becoming a nag or worse yet, his mother. He knows a jab that will render me silent and glaring in an argument: "stop being such a nag, I don't need another mother." (This hurts most I think because I picture a nag as a haggard old woman wearing rags with wiry gray hair).
My quest for balance is regularly upset by his line of work, but it is those times I remember to really stop, really kiss him and appreciate the great man I've got. When dinner gets missed, bath time ditched, and he crawls into bed at 4 in the morning after dealing with a domestic abuse call, I know he deserves his kisses, and then, some peace and quiet so he can sleep.

3 comments:

  1. His response, on behalf of all "husbands in training":

    The poor gal, my wife. No matter what she does, she's made to feel like she can always do more. I really try to say thanks for doing the dishes (whilst thinking in my head, "If I don't, she'll KILL me!"), give her extra hugs when it's quiet, (whilst thinking, "I bet it would drive you crazy to sit still for just ten seconds!") and sing her praises. I live in constant fear of her wrath. That's the truth, but I say it half-sarcastically.

    Now, any married man knows there are the unnecessary attempts at husband-training that goes on. Those husbands who come domestica-ready and prepare fantastic meals, clean up after them, keep the house well-swept AND make succulent romance are jerks, I'm convinced. My model came from a home where socks got picked up, laundry done, and meals made, all by some magic, unappreciated fairy. In my house, balance is sought by this B-type guy: balance in not spending so much time on household duties, balance in not expending too much effort to maintain cleanliness, balance in effort to keep flame of passion alive in spite of cloth diaper piles and squash splatters on wall.

    She does try, and in these short years, where months can pass in the blink of en eye, she has made leaps and bounds in becoming more accepting, not to mention self-sufficienct. (Though we are still working on lessons like "remembering to eat lunch" and "don't tell me to take my daily vitamin, er, daily".)

    It's a fine line, as you see, to naviagte the path of wife-who-can't-let-it-go-training while desperately avoiding her becoming a nag or worse yet, my mother. She knows a jab that will render me silent and glaring in an argument: "stop being such an ass, you remind me of your brother." (This hurts most I think because my brother is an ass and we never got along).

    My quest for relaxation is regularly upset by her line of work, but when she relaxes, it is those times she remembers to really stop, really kiss me and appreciate the great man she's got. When dinner gets missed, bath time ditched, and I crawl into bed at 4 in the morning after dealing with a domestic abuse call, she knows I deserves her kisses, and then, some peace and quiet so I can sleep.

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