What I wish I could teach my husband

A man is not where he lives, but where he loves.  ~Latin Proverb

I have, quite clearly, the best job in the world.

The pay is lousy.  Nonexistent, one might say.

I’ll grant you that.  But there is nothing more wonderful than being a mom.  And I have some fantastic little girls.

Before we had kids, I worked outside the home.  The house was tidy, I cooked all of our meals, and we had free time.  And money.  Now many of those things have disappeared.  But my happiness has multiplied, and is found in unexpected places.  I’ve always said that my mini-van is my status symbol – it screams success every time I see it.  A tangible reminder that I have what I wanted my whole life.  But there are other reminders as well. 

Napkins that never quite stay in place,

doors that are never without little fingerprints,

drywall with nicks.

When I see this

it doesn’t look like a mess, it looks like art.

I’ve learned lessons along the way.  Like when you wipe down handrails, don’t forget to do the underside.

I’ve learned not to bother sweeping the floor until the kids are tucked into bed.

And I’ve learned that a table’s beauty is not found in its perfection, but rather in its wear.  The traces of glitter glue and marker add character.  The scratches and dents are reflections of our life.  Every groove, every missing bit of finish, every imperfection is part of our story.

I’ve also learned not to panic when someone ‘accidentally’ glues their craft to the table.  It comes off.

When Catie took a crayon to the wall, I left it there.  The days of scribbling on walls will be gone all too soon.  I will spend many years of my life fondly missing the crayon years – another day or two on the wall won’t hurt.

It even helps.  Reminds me of what is important (my girl) and what isn’t (my wall).  That little red alien drawing in the basement stairwell made me smile every time I walked past it.  Until yesterday, when it vanished.

You see, my husband is a neat freak.

6 years ago I bought this for our wall.

I treasure it.  He is not amused.

He’s always straightening, organizing, cleaning, re-arranging.  He never sits still.

While we’re stopping to smell the roses, he’s pulling weeds and planning to re-mulch.

If the girls want to play a game, I wipe off the table and spread it out. 

He sweeps the floor under the table, washes the seat cushions, decides to remove the leaves from the table and clean between them, and then runs out of time to play a game because the kids have to go to bed.

It breaks my heart.

He’s missing out in a huge way, and I don’t know how to make him see that.  The saying, ‘Can’t see the forest through the trees’ – well he isn’t living because he’s caught up in the details of life.

Is it possible to change someone?  To give someone the gift of a new perspective?  Is it possible for a control freak to let go of the reins?

I’m concerned about him.  About how this affects the kids.  About what it teaches them.

I’m concerned about the prospect of him going through life as an obligation instead of a blessing.  And I don’t know how to help him.

For years I felt this was my own shortcoming.  I readily admit I’m not a good housekeeper, so I believed that if only I did better, he’d be happier.  One day my mom kept the kids so that I could clean the house from top to bottom.  I worked my tail off for 10 hours and the place was spotless.  I was beyond excited about it, and how happy I knew he’d be. 

When he came home, he started scrubbing the inside of the kitchen cabinets.

I’ve told him since then that this was the day that I gave up.  I accepted that I would never be good enough.  I will never be able to make everything just right.  I’ll never be able to make him happy.

We control our own happiness – I firmly believe that.  Happiness is a choice.  I wish I could teach him that.

I wish I could show him how to dance in the rain.  How to count your blessings even when your world is crumbling.  How to take joy in a messy car, because it’s a by-product of child rearing.  How to love little socks scattered about, and muddy shoes on the porch.  How to relax, even if the house is messy.  How to relax, period.

We’re not romantic people, and Valentine’s Day, especially, is a day that means little to me.  A bouquet of flowers today means less than it would the other 364 days of the year.  We don’t typically exchange presents.  But today, this is a gift I’d like to give him. 

I’d like to teach my husband how to be happy.