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 mindless topics on her mind. I would praise her for the work she puts in to take care of our children, and I would acknowledge the difference she makes in the life of our family and the lives of those around her. I would make her laugh. I would help her around the house, and I would aid with the laundry. I would put up with her “tone” and frequent interruptions. I would remind her how beautiful she looks all of the time. I would kiss her goodnight first, then go to bed, and 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 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. I often take his jokes and quips as jabs in my direction, and as an effort to detour away from serious conversation.
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 successful conversations. When he attempts to tell me how beautiful I am, I scoff at his mockery; how could a man find this b*tchy and unshowered woman attractive? I just 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 lucky 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 effort. And not just minimal, careless effort, but thought-out, purposeful effort.
This Father’s Day and all days be grateful that you have a father to your kids and husband who, despite his flaws, quirks, and what you believe to be his perceived shortcomings, loves you enough to see past yours.