You know the old saying- "If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy." I frequently remind my husband, the Monk, of this. I think he mostly underestimates its power, but every once in awhile he seems to get it (and if you are interested in knowing the story behind how Monk got his name, I have put a note in at the bottom of the post). Yesterday was one such time.
Now, my dear husband is many wonderful things, but a baby person he is not. He will make a wonderful grandfather one day (far, FAR in the future). He loves other people's babies, mostly I think because once they start to poop or cry he can hand them back (and who can blame him, really?). I think he used up all of his baby tolerance with the Princess. Before she was born he and I worked opposite shifts, and he also worked a second day job. To save money on day care, he did something that not many men in his generation would do- he quit one of his jobs to stay home with the Princess while I worked during the day. And he did a wonderful job.
Now that our situation has changed (new state, new home, new jobs), Monk is working (at a job he loves- praise God!) and I'm at home with the kids. Eventually I'll go back to work- some days I can't wait to trade my pjs in for pumps, other days I can't imagine leaving my babies (even though there are times I try to pawn them off on the UPS guy. He says that's not what the post office means by "if it fits, it ships"). But for now I'm home, and my day revolves around Goldfish crackers and naptimes, bottles, boobs, and burping. Any stay-at-home parent can tell you, it's a rewarding job, but also exhausting. I love my children, and I'm glad to be able to be here for them, but you would have to pay me an outrageously exorbitant amount of money to do this same job for someone else. My husband sees how much work three kids under three are and I think if he had to take over for me for more than a few hours at a time, he just might be pushed to auction the kids off on eBay (another reason you should always read the whole ad and never go by just the picture).
But yesterday my dear man was really there for me. He called me from work- something we usually reserve for kid and house emergencies- just to see how I was doing. Then when he came home, he immediately took over with Thing One and Thing Two so I could finish working on preparing a craft activity for the Princess' birthday party this weekend. And he didn't gripe or say anything when I told him I would start dinner after I finished reading a chapter in my book. I made sweet and sour chicken for dinner and it came out really sticky sweet, which I know he doesn't care for much, but he ate it and didn't say a word about it. Then at quarter to seven when Thing One was still super fussy (he had been since lunch), I mentioned to Monk that a ride in the car would probably help (the car can almost always calm down the boys when they're at their fussiest, but with gas prices we hold out as long as possible). Normally I think he would have reminded me that he has to go to bed soon, or about the gas, or that he doesn't like me going out at night. Instead he agreed with me, and told me it was probably a good idea if I got out and took some time for myself (albeit with a fussy baby, which was fine with me- it was only one of them) before I started the "night shift." When I came home and unloaded the groceries, Monk found a Christmas special on TV for the Princess, and I popped some popcorn (okay, so I slightly burned some popcorn), and we all sat together and watched Kris Kringle in a Claymation special that has to be older than I am while we held and patted and rocked our two cranky boys.
Some of you might be green with envy at my unbelievable good luck to land a husband so wonderfully kind, caring, and considerate. Others of you are scoffing at the fact that I'm thrilled to get our of the house to grocery shoping for an hour still with a baby in tow. That's the beauty of relationships- you never really know what the inside of other people's are like, what makes them tick. What I really hope Monk sees from yesterday is what a better mood I was in- because of him. The rest of my day wasn't any different from any other day. The Princess was still her stubborn, opinionated, accident-prone, almost-three-year-old self. The twins were fussy most of the day, save for a late-morning nap. But Monk's midday phone call just to check on me and see how I was doing gave me some strength to deal with the trials of the day. And his being understanding of things that are probably not the way he would like (see note below about his nickname) made all the difference to me.
Spouses aren't perfect (despite the fact that my husband has been trained to tell me that I am), but I think that really paying attention to your husband or wife and giving him/her the benefit of the doubt (Do you really think that I leave the laundry unfolded just to make you nuts? Or maybe I just haven't gotten to it yet?) go a long way in sustaining a marriage and being good parents together. Plus, I try always to be aware that my kids have a front-row seat for my marriage- I don't want them to grow up believing that I think their dad is anything less than the kind, funny, warmhearted guy I fell in love with.
Monk and I have a pretty good marriage. There are times we drive each other crazy. That's okay. Sometimes we argue, and I think that's okay too. The key, I think, is to accept the other person for who he/she is, flaws, faults, and all, and understand that he/she probably isn't going to change just because you feel a certain way (and I think Monk would tell you that I am more successful at the whole "accepting and understanding" thing, although he's always improving). This is not a first marriage for either of us. We went into this relationship with a better understanding of ourselves than we had in the past- we knew what we wanted, what we liked, what we didn't like. We had already established routines and ways of doing things. So early in our marriage when Monk kept looking for bread at every meal and I would tell him he didn't need bread, we were eating rice or pasta or whatever, and he would say, "But I want bread" and I would tell him "But you don't need it" until he finally would get up and find a loaf of bread on his own, it just made me realize more- my job as his wife is to accept him and love him, not to change him. All the nutrition facts in the world weren't going to change a 40+ year habit of having bread with every meal. And why did it matter to me, really? Because it's not as healthy? He had taken care of himself before he married me, he could probably continue making his own decisions. Sure, if he had been used to having, say, cocaine with every meal instead of bread it would have been another issue... but if my choice is to fight with him about how I don't think he needs bread, or just let him eat what he wants, why not just let him eat what he wants? If I didn't change his mind the first time I brought it up, I'm not going to change it the fiftieth time I bring it up. So why waste the effort and create stress and crankiness?
I understand this approach and way of thinking won't work for everyone. That's okay. Everyone has to do what they think is best for themselves, and their marriage. As for us... we have ups and downs, but at the end of it all, I'm glad I have Monk beside me, for better or worse.
It's taken me the better part of the day to write this post. Gotta get it in where I can, between diaper changes, readings of Knuffle Bunny, breastfeeding, burping, crying (almost all of which is the boys). Need to get started on dinner- steak on the grill, rice, snap peas... mmmmm...
And, of course, bread.
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About Monk's nickname:
As per blogging privacy standards, I chose aliases for the members of my family whom I talk about (even though many of you check my blog because you know me, hopefully eventually I'll reach people who don't owe me favors). My husband is Monk. To understand this you need to familliar with the USA television show of the same name- it's about an obsessive compulsive detective who solves crimes. While my hubby doesn't fight crime, he is extremely particular about things- neatness topping the list. "A place for everything and everything in its place" could be his own personal motto. He can't stand clutter. He has to keep things clean (he rakes the leaves daily, lest the yard look "messy"). Unfortunately for him, I am what you might call more of an "organized chaos" kind of person. I don't like clutter, but despite my best efforts, it follows me wherever I go (I would be happy to leave the leaves where they fall- maybe mulch them over the grass- I hear it's supposed to make good fertilizer for the next year. When I mentioned this to my husband he looked at me like I had suggested we strip naked and make snow angels on the White House lawn). Like I said, it's all about love and acceptance. And maybe the occassional Valium.
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