After many illustrations and much blabbery from me, The Mom…
I thought it would be especially nice to hear thing one or two from a dad.
I decided that it wouldn’t be a bad thing, at ALL…
for me to stop for a miniature moment…
to take a peek at family life and all of the ruckus-a-muckus through The Husband’s eyeballs.
So I drew a dad and a handful of kids mucking about in the kitchen.
Then, I asked The Husband if he could please say at least ONE word about family life..as he sees it.
He agreed to do this…which I’ll admit, made me a little nervous.
I wasn’t completely sure about the kinds of things that I might hear…
Or if I was ready to hear of it.
This guy does not fibble … and he’s a man of few words (mostly).
I, on the other hand, can turn a 5 minute happenstance into…
“……………aaaaannnd then I was waiting around for HOURS stacked upon more HOURS. For reals… I’m dead-ish serious!”
At this point the husband is staring blanks at me…..because he’s patiently waiting for “the real story”.
Eventually I’m all; “Well…erm….I MEAN it totally FELT like HOURS but it could have been closer to 15 minutes……..Ok, 5 minutes…but they were REALLY big and longish ones. ”
To start him off…a nudge of sorts…I told him to tell me “What is that dad in the kitchen thinking?”
Note: The Dad’s thoughts, exactly how he wrote them, are in bold. The Mom’s thoughts, exactly how she thought them, are in italics.
The Dad: It’s so noisy in here…I can’t EVEN think.
(It is? I was thinking the noise was at a minimum, right now it’s fairly peace and joy in that kitchen…just the usual hum-drum. It isn’t too far-fetched, however, to imagine that after 10 years of hoot and holler my ears have developed a noise filter and an auto tune mode… if that’s truly the case, THANK YOU ear holes, keep up the good work.)
The Dad: My back is tightening up…I feel a headache coming on.
(This is EXACTLY why I buy the XL sized containers of Ibuprophin.)
The Dad: How does she do it?
(We are not sure.)
The Dad: I’m hollering and no one can hear me.
(Crinkle candy wrappers…this gets their attention immediately.)
D: When is she coming back?
(I’ve got 3 more Goodwill stores to rifle through yet….)
D: I need help.
(EVERY day I think the same exact thing. Another set of arms attached to my body at birth would NOT have been wasted cell matter.)
D: I thought I just fed this baby and now he’s screaming for something else.
(This does happen. Often.)
D: I thought I just cleaned this area and now it’s a mess.
D: How many kids do we have?
(Counting me, 6.)
D: I’ve only been here an hour and it feels like all day.
(And I’m there ALL day and it feels like I don’t have enough hours to get it all done.)
D: My nerves are frazzled.
(FINALLY! Now I don’t have to be frazzled alone.)
D: How did I end up babysitting? Or am I raising my kids? I think if the kids are yours then you’re actually raising them.
(This is true. And it’s much harder than raising bread. Maybe.)
D: Well…The comments above…that’s the way it used to be for me anyways.
D: Now I enjoy being home with my babies.
(Your babies enjoy it too. When the work truck pulls in the driveway, they ALL cheer, the mom included. No lie.)
D: I’m not much of a cook.
(The good news is…the children prefer mac & cheese over crab stuffed lobster tails.)
D: But the kids eat my cooking anyways. Sometimes.
(Sometimes is good. “Sometimes” is AT LEAST a C+ which is a passing grade, also if this was The Oregon Trail, nobody in your wagon train would starve to death. Nice job! I wont bring you home some livestock, but Little Caesars is a likely alternative. )
D: I even clean up after them…it’s not SO bad.
(It’s NOT bad at all. No. This is a VERY good thing for me to come home to.)
D: I’m gone so much. It feels like I have to warm up and get to know my kids all over again, every single weekend.
(And yet, I’m around them SO much but I still feel like I should spend more time getting to know them.)
D: I used to look for excuses to NOT “babysit” the kids.
(THANK YOU for not doing this anymore.)
D: Now I look forward to it.
(Stop it. My heart is getting mushy.)
D: I get home and The Wife is ready to head out for “Date Night” after being cooped up with the kids all week, and I’m trying to stay, just a little longer.
(“Ready” doesn’t even kinda-sorta explain my condition…come Friday-Night-Date. Freakishly desperate for adult conversation and quietness, would be a better description.)
D: It is hard to leave the house when I’ve just gotten home….but I love my time with my wife on our dates, because it is the only time we get together by ourselves.
(Ditto to MOST of that. Except for it being hard to leave the house part. THEN the whole while we are “out” conversations like this are taking place: “I forgot to tell you. You’ll never guess what The Infant did this week! [Insert a bunch of baby milestones and blather here.] To all of which, unless you are the father to The Infant, you would be all…YAWN times 25! Also, “Check out 102 of the funniest, cutest photos and videos you’ve never EVER seen!” And after seeing ALL 102 of these excitable things… ONLY The Husband is agreeing with me that any of them contain even a smidge of “cutest” and “funniest EVER”. Believe it or not, after the dinner and the coffee….we’ve both had enough quietness and are ready to go back home to the crazy noisy family life. Weird? I agree completely. But it is how it is.)
D: I like being home more and more as time goes by. Especially now, when the older kids can help out.
(They do give fairly decent foot rubs…that might have something to do with it as well.)
D: I’m not sure what this rambling has to do with anything…..but I’ll leave the writing here to my wife because………*
*(things and stuff that I’m too modest to include)
D: And also…….*
*(More things and stuff that the whole wide world doesn’t need to know).
(I’m blushing. Stop it. I didn’t even put the rest of what you wrote…NOBODY, that I know of, wants to read lovey-dovey letters here. I’m hearing you though….there’s nothing else, for REAL, that I would rather be doing in life, than raising a batch of hooligans with you. UNLESS we’re talking about a job with where a person gets paid to travel abroad whilst eating ridiculous amounts of deliciousness served upon golden platters that they don’t even have to wash. There’s that. Then again…I suppose even golden food platters become boring after a while… especially if you’ve got no family around to squeal about it with. I wouldn’t mind trying this though… at LEAST once in our lifetime…just to be SURE it’s more awful than kid raising. Maybe you want to come too…after the kids are all growed-up, graduated, moved out and doing adult-like activities such as: purchasing their very own toilet paper, brushing their very own teeth…etc..etc?)