If I were a husband, I would get it right.

I would ensure that my wife knew she was loved.

I would kiss her every morning and bring her coffee.

I would listen intently when she interrupts my paper reading to discuss any of the numerous mindless topics she has on her mind.

I would praise her for all of the effort that she puts in taking care of our children, growing her business and keep our marriage afloat, and I would acknowledge the difference she makes in my life, the lives of our children and the lives of those around her.

I would make her laugh.

I would help her around the house.

I would aid with the laundry.

I would put up with her “tone” and frequent interruptions.

I would remind her of how beautiful she looks all of the time.

And, every evening, I would kiss her goodnight, go to bed, and then lay there reminding myself of how thankful I am for her.

But, I am not a husband.

I am a wife, and I don’t always get it right.

I try to ensure that my husband knows he is loved, but the challenges and stresses of motherhood often distract me from such.

With anxiety and exhaustion to blame, I typically don’t pay attention to the fact that my husband kisses me every morning, or that he brings me my own cup of hot coffee.

When he applauds how our children are growing up, I usually chastise him for not glorifying me enough, with the right tone, or in the way, I deemed necessary, at that moment.

I often take his casual jokes and jovial quips as intentional jabs in my direction and as an effort to detour away from serious conversations.

When he helps with the housework, I condemn him for leaving me to care for the kids, yet again.

I then repeatedly disturb his open line of communication with inappropriate modulation hindering any chance of having fruitful conversations.

When he attempts to tell me how beautiful I am, I scoff at his mockery; how could a man like him find this witchy, unshowered and consistently exasperated woman attractive?

So, I go to bed, with a half kiss to the hubby and complain to myself about how our relationship could be better.

I guess we are lucky I am not a husband.

I guess we are fortunate that I am a wife.

I guess the beautiful craziness of marriage and real love is that we’re not always going to get it right, but that nothing is more right than two people, day in and day out, putting in the effort; and not just minimal, careless effort, but thought-out, purposeful effort.

Be grateful that you have a husband who, despite his flaws, quirks, and what you believe to be his perceived shortcomings, loves you enough to see past yours.

Hug your husband a little tighter tonight, and maybe even lay in bed tonight reminding yourself of how thankful you are for him.