Domestic Bliss Report

Motherhood is hard work. If we don't stick together, we'll all fall apart.

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

I think he needs some props.

My dear husband is a great guy. I'm sure most of my readers, the married women out there, would say "Mine is better," which is as it should be. But bear with me.

He's been compelled to discover the Three Dollar Renovator's antics on more than one occasion. To my knowledge, he hasn't hired a hit man yet, but I'm sure he'd love to see him in a dark alley with a sock full of wood screws.

He gets me books, he reads, he discusses what he's reading without being condescending. Whether fiction, history, sci-fi, or whatever, he shares his opinion and wants mine. Except for the times when his author friend sends him stuff to get his suggestions. Then he goes into "lawyer mode" and he reveals nothing. At all. (Um, Author Friend Steve, is that necessary? Could he share with his wife?)

He loves our children. He gets home and is more patient with them than I am. He understands their victories in school, he reads to them, he encourages them to try again, he plays with them--baseball and soccer and football and Matchbox cars and princess-against-dragon. Or whatever they come up with.

He loves me. He offers to bring home supper when I've had a long day. He apologizes when I get hormonal and give him the silent treatment, even if I probably should go first. He notices when I vacuum but not when I don't. He listens to me expound on what I'm reading even if he's got zero interest in it himself.

Here's a true story that cracked up my sister about her brother-in-law.
He's a church-going, well-read, world-traveled, elevated-degreed, homeowning happily married husband and father. Late one Saturday afternoon about two years ago, my mother had happened by. So had a friend with her two young children. It was a nice enough day to have all of the kids in the backyard.
Apparently, Friend's (now ex-)husband had been demonstrating his retrograde evolution. He was refusing to go out for their younger child's diapers, she was getting away from him in protest. He came by on his bicycle looking for her (see, he'd lost his license for too many DUI's). Becoming aware of Neanderthal's visit, my husband came out and just sat on the deck. It vaguely reminded me of a lion and his pride, but I digress.
After Friend left with her kids, having made her point, Knuckledragger circled back. He did not even look in our yard, let alone make eye contact or say anything. I learned later he told her he came back to give me a piece of his mind; I reminded her he didn't have much to spare.
As my beloved watched him go, he said simply, "If he comes back, I'm cleaning my shotgun out here on the deck."




At 6:46 PM, Blogger Domenico Bettinelli said...

Sometimes I wished your family lived out here in Massachusetts or we lived out there in Michigan because our think you and Dale and Melanie and I would get along just famously. :)


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