Back in the days of my youth (what feels like another world
ago), I wasn’t too bad to look at. I was particularly proud of my butt and my
boobs. I even liked my stomach; it wasn’t particularly spectacular, but I had a
line down each side that made it look like I had somewhat toned abs. And I’m
allowed to say this without sounding conceited because I’m looking back with an
air of longing and no small degree of realization that the “hot number” ship
has sailed on a one-way ticket to the mystical land of Not Here Anymore,
Sister.
The reason for this bitter little trip down memory lane is
not to try to trick you into thinking of me as I was and not as I am (not
really…..is it working, though?). Rather, I’m trying to paint a picture. I was
young, relatively attractive, and could hold up my end of a fairly entertaining
conversation. I like to think I’ve grown by leaps and bounds as a person on a
deeper level since those days, but on the surface, I’m pretty sure my glory
years were those of my college career.
(If you don’t hate me by now, I’m sure you will after I say
what I’m about to say.) Since I thought so highly of myself back then, it
should come as no surprise that I thought Dan (my now-husband) was pretty darn
lucky to have me. The quiet, shy guy who wouldn’t meet my parents for the first
year and a half that we dated, who didn’t pay for my dinner and refused to
acknowledge we were even really dating until I threatened to break up with him
two years in. And me, a slightly above-average looking girl who got along well
with adults, liked children, went to church and loved to read self-help books
to make herself a better person. I mean obviously – who was the fortunate one
there? I’ll give you a hint: his name rhymes with can, man and van.
(See, told you that you’d hate me!)
I eventually deigned to marry this humble man, and I set out
on a path to play wife to the luckiest man in the world. Imagine my complete
and utter shock when the myth began to unravel.
Sure, I polished Dan up a bit. And before we had children, I
was mostly able to maintain my fantasy of believing that our match always
weighed a bit in my favor. But then, Lucas was born. And then, more importantly
(for this story’s purposes, anyway – not in the grand scheme of things),
Charlie was born. My egotistical myth unraveled in a hurry after that.
We had been thrust head-on into the insanity that is
parenting toddlers and making adult decisions that all-too-often play out for
the good of the children (read: sacrifices). My body took a major hit and my
personal demons rose to the surface more quickly than you can say “psychotic”.
And somewhere between suddenly and gradually, I began to see
my husband with clearer vision. The way he plays with our children. The way he
sheepishly makes me laugh even when I feel like punching him in the face. The
way he is quick to forgive me when I mess up (all the time). The way he works a
full time job that required 12-hour shifts at night, and also ran his own
landscaping business part-time in the spring/summer/early fall for 8 years. The
way he supported me in my decision to take a job that involved a pay cut and
more expensive health benefits because it was doing something I enjoy doing.
The way I can count on him to take care of things that barely held my interest
long enough to communicate them to him (oil changes, car troubles, home
repairs, taking the garbage out). The way he carries more than his fair share
of cleaning responsibilities. I could go on and on.
And now that the seasons of our lives are shifting slightly,
my husband is taking on even more child-rearing responsibilities by staying
with our kids part-time during the week. When it dawned on me that he is now a
part-time stay at home dad, it blew my mind. That’s when I truly realized what
a freaking diamond in the rough I have in him.
The decision for him to “retire” (as we like to joke) from
lawns and be with our kids for half the week has not been easy for him. Even
though he worked like a madman during lawn season, he enjoyed an enviable
schedule during the off-season. On his days off, particularly during the week,
the kids would go to daycare, I would go to work, and he would be left to his
own devices. He had two or three days in a row to himself to do whatever he
pleased. Luckily for me, some of his activities included cleaning the house,
doing laundry and grocery shopping. But he also got to play hockey, do some
home projects, or just generally relax. For him to give up those days has been
a true sacrifice.
But he is taking it completely in stride. He keeps the kids
busy, taking them to play at the mall, playing with them outside, or running
errands. Instead of being miserable and crabbing about how he misses his days
to himself (as I surely would), he looks at each day with a “what can we do today?”
attitude. The house is almost always cleaner to some degree than when I leave
for work in the morning, and the kids are always fed and happy. He’ll text me
pictures of the kids throughout the day, and they always make me smile (and
feel ever-so-slightly jealous that I’m not with them).
This is the man I married. This is the man that is getting
better as we and our marriage age. Certainly he is not perfect. But I am in the
very happy position of only growing more thankful that he is the one I “chose”
as the days and years pass. Instead of thinking that he is the lucky one to
have an amazing person such as me by his side, I am now thanking God that I managed
to lock Dan in for life before my façade of awesomeness fell aside. Not quite a
bait and switch, as I’m sure I do bring some things to the table, but I think
it’s my attitude that has changed.
Which is obviously a good thing, I think. For me, for my
children, and for my husband.
