Working Mommy

Many of you know I’ve been divorced and was remarried about fifteen years ago. I’m a better wife this time around… I am, I own it. I learned some tough lessons. This time around I…

Never speak badly about my husband in public. Ever. ESPECIALLY in front of him. Pointing out a husband’s flaws in public isn’t funny, it’s mean. If I am frustrated and looking for guidance, I have one spectacularly trustworthy (and wise) girlfriend that I can turn to, but I am very aware that words have power; and I watch my words.

Say, “I love it when you…” Not, “I hate it when you…”

Am more forgiving, because I’m not perfect either. I don’t jump on his every flaw; I make mistakes too. And there is nothing intrinsically superior about Jane Austen over monster truck races. They both have their place in entertainment. (Lord, did I really just say that?)

Say it. I say what I am feeling. Say what I want, say what I need. I tell him softly and lovingly, or I tell him with tears streaming down my face, but I get the words out. He is not a mind reader. Sometimes (like last night) the back and forth is stilted and awkward and fraught with tension, but I persist. I go away (and give him time to process) and then I come back again, “we need to finish talking about this”, and in the end, it’s okay. In the end, we hug, and apologize to each other for our share of the tension, and we know each other better. I was afraid to talk in my first marriage. This time around, I say it.

See his dirty t-shirt is on the towel rack again, and know that it means that he is working hard, still alive, and that he came home to me. Could I complain about this habit of his? Of course. But it IS his habit, and in the grand scheme of things, I can live with it. I decided a while ago to replace the irritation with gratitude that he is still here.

I have a better understanding of his physical need for me. I know to wrap my arms around him and press my body into him when he is scared, frustrated, sad. He needs it. He may need it before he can hear any words about it.

We make a point to eat together. Even if, like last night, we are having dinner at 8 o’clock at night.

We laugh together, thank God. We laugh at ourselves too. Gift of humility and forgiveness.

I let him feed the kids crap food every once in a while. Allowing for “do you remember when dad let us…”, is worth the loss in nutrition for a day.

We pray together. The first time I did this with my husband it was odd and scary and awesome. Now it’s comforting and wonderful. And powerful.

We hold hands. I touch his back when I walk by him in the kitchen. He kisses my shoulder as I brush my teeth.

We talk about money. How much is coming in, how much is going out, how much is getting saved? If we stay on the current path we’re on, where will it get us ten years from now? We save for emergencies. Because there will be emergencies.

We have traditions. I can’t emphasize enough what a joy this is. These activities, unique to our family, these returning touchstones of this-is-how-we-do-it, have meant so much.

I let him see me naked. (Cringe, am I really talking about this? Lord.) He doesn’t care that my body isn’t perfect. Men are visual creatures. This is me bringing him flowers.

When I screw up, I say I’m sorry. I say “I’m sorry” a lot.

When he does something nice, I say thank you. I say “thank you” a lot too.

There you have it. My hard-learned marriage lessons (while still-only-partially-coffee’d, so please forgive me any awkward phrasing…)

Finally, I know that pretty much no matter what is going on, we will be fine. There are precious few true disasters in life. Time heals, situations change, people learn.

Happy Date Night.

With love,