Several days ago, a young, single friend of mine was lamenting on Facebook that he wished that there was something that someone could say to him to help take away his constant thoughts about wishing he was a married man.
At the time,
the only thing I could think to tell him was that maybe it would help to watch one of the shows on TLC where some unsuspecting couple thinks they are going to have just one baby, and ends up finding out they are, instead, having six.
Later on in the day, however, my husband Justin came into the bathroom while I was using it, seemingly only for the purpose of staring at me for a minute,
and then openly judging the amount of toilet paper I used, before turning on one heel and leaving the room.
He had not grabbed something he needed.
He had not brushed his teeth.
Just opened the door and entered solely to stare and to judge me.
He did this and then he simply walked away.
When I was in my 20’s, and was dreaming of marriage, I pictured many things.
Decorating a home together, multiple children of our own, joyful family road trips.
And though I have gotten all of the things I have dreamed of, none have looked just how I planned.
I didn’t know that I wouldn’t really want his opinion on the home decor later, because while it’s something I’m really good at,
he does things like secretly sneak to write “Go Giants” in the middle of my saying on my trendy letter board.
And those joyful family trips?
They’re really only about 40% joyful, and that is if the wind is just right.
Normally they’re just a new place to be embarrassed in a public restroom,
and still listening to the question “How many more bites do I have to take” just further away from home.
I’m not saying there is no romance in marriage.
For sure there is.
I am just saying I have far fewer bouquets handed to me than conversations like this:
JUSTIN: “What’s wrong with your eye?”
ME: “What?” *Reaching up to check it*
JUSTIN: “Did you hurt your face? It looks like you did something to it.”
ME: “No. What are you even talking about?”
JUSTIN: “You’ve got a red spot under your eye.”
ME: “Are you talking about this?
*points to a red splotch I have had for literally the last 12 years*
“I’ve had this almost our entire marriage.”
HIM: “Hmmmm. I guess I’ve just never looked at your face this close before.”
Or there was the time I had just returned from the nail salon where I had gotten a pedicure, and upon inspecting my feet, he told me that he felt like “they probably could have gone a little longer with the dremel in this spot right here. *tapping my foot, then laughing*
What did you do? Break their tool?”
There was also the night when,
while I was making dinner, I sheered ¼ of my entire index fingernail clean off with a butcher’s knife.
As I am on blood thinners, you can probably imagine my shock, and I stood there beside the salad I had been making saying a shaky,
“Um. I just cut myself pretty bad!
A huge chunk of my fingernail and skin on my finger is gone!
Can someone help get me a band-aid or something?”
Justin, who had just told me I should “Hold off” on getting band-aids because he would just bring some home from work, had,
in fact, not.
There was a scramble of digging through bathroom cabinets only to find empty box after empty box left in the cabinet by the girls.
Through this futile search I was continuing to bleed.
For 10 minutes I searched as he scrolled through memes and ended with a whole scene of me trying to fashion my own make-shift band aid out of a rolled up paper towel and some leftover rug tape as I pictured myself in the wilderness alone tying a tourniquet made of bison sinew.
And through all of this,
Justin just looked at his phone.
When the attempt to make a proper bandage failed, I finally said a frustrated,
“Babe, do you think you could, like, go check your car or something for a band-aid?”
Which is when he finally looked up at me and said an annoyed sounding,
“Is it really THAT bad?”
He just stared at me blankly.
“Yes, Babe,” I answered, holding my finger up dramatically close to his eyeball for him to see,
At which he just sort of squinted at it and,
as if he had come to a scientific conclusion,
said the words,
“So…..You need something to cover it.”
Yes.
That is what I have been saying.
15 minutes in, when my finger had finally been dressed with a band-aid donation from our hippie neighbor,
whom I’m surprised even owns band-aids,
Justin came over to where I stood in the kitchen,
I thought to apologize for his lack of initial concern.
Instead, however,
he put his hands on both of my shoulders, leaned in, and softly said the words every wife with only 9 and ¾ fingers left longs to hear:
“So…Is dinner almost done, or…
I really can’t wait much later.”
(And I quote)
“You know I can’t go to bed with too full a tummy.”
TUMMY.
That is the word that he used.
Now, if this is not all a picture of real-life marriage, I really do not know what is.
Yes, I have a hundred stories of times he has really been top notch.
There are so many reasons I love him,
of course.
Like when he led me outside to see the stars one night after midnight, telling me he thinks of me every night when he sees them as he leaves for work.
How he just kept wanting to show me.
And, yes, he regularly makes me laugh so hard that I have to beg him to please stop.
Yes, he does all the laundry,
and he’s given me everything that I’ve ever dreamed.
But those stories were not the ones for which my friend was asking.
I felt like he needed a little dose of
Real Marriage.
To truly see the whole scene.
So, I hope this helps, friend, when I tell you –
Yes, some loves come bearing crystal,
but
judgement for bleeding, your dry skin,
and your toilet paper usage are also
traditional gifts for year fifteen.
This article was written by a guest blogger. The opinions expressed here are those of the writer and do not reflect the opinions of Bob Lacey, Sheri Lynch or the Bob & Sheri show.
Mom Outnumbered
Hi! My name is Kerri Green; Wife to Justin, and mother to four highly entertaining daughters -Alena, Chloe, Tessa, and Paige. I am an artist, a writer, a daycare provider, a lover of people, a believer that there is humor and beauty in all things, and the author of Mom Outnumbered; a blog about real family life, and my observations of it. My goal is to make people laugh, to be there for them when they cry, and most importantly, to let them know that they are not at all alone in this up and down world. I live with my family in Sebastopol California, and I am opening the window into our life. So welcome! Come in. Sit down. Just please don’t mind the mysterious wet spots.
