The Husband was reading through older posts the other day, when I heard him let out a huge sigh.
“What’s wrong?” –Me
“Nothing. You have all of these nice posts about the kids. What about me?” –Jeremy
“Really?!? I was trying to be considerate of your privacy. I didn’t think you’d want to be written about.”
“Well, you have What The Older Boy Taught Me and What The Younger Boy Taught Me. What about me?” Almost instantly, he realized his blunder. He realized what he was saying. At this point, he was trying to back out, telling me he didn’t really want to be written about. He was just teasing me, just giving me a “hard time.”
It was too late. He asked for it. He should’ve known better. It was like an invitation to mock him; I couldn’t pass that up!!! What kind of wife would I be?
So, here goes…
The first thing The Husband taught me was that sometimes stalkers actually do get the girl. I had first met Jeremy when I was still in high school. He worked at a neighborhood grocery store, and he totally creeped me out. He always blatantly flirted with me whenever I went in, and my friends and I actually started calling him that “dirty old man.” In actuality, he was only 2 years older than me, but the boy could grow a really impressive beard, giving him the appearance of someone ten years older. I avoided him (and the store) like the plague. After begging my girlfriend to go in for me one day, she looked at me and said, “You two are going to get married one day. Just watch.”
She nailed it.
Long story short, he offered me a job, and we worked together all the time. Of course we did–he made the schedule. It actually took me a little while to catch on to the fact that he put us working together on purpose. A real quick one, I was. And, over time, he grew on me. By the time that I started college the following fall, we were dating, and I was totally smitten with him.
So, for all of you stalkers out there, have hope. Unless you have a restraining order. In those cases, move along…
After we were married for only a few months, The Husband and I became pregnant with John Edward, at which point The Husband taught me that marriage can be electrifying. No, not like that. I mean literally electrifying. Now that a baby was on the way, we decided to buy some property with a small home. While looking at our future homestead one day, Jeremy decided he was going to jump the electric fence. We tried to warn him, but ooooooh noooo, country boy knew what he was doing. Putting his weight on a barbed wire, he began to hoist himself over the fence when the wire holding him gave out. He fell straight down…about 3 feet…right onto an electric wire…right between the legs. I have never before, or since, seen a human jump up that quickly.
If he hadn’t already, he probably regretted marrying me at that moment. Because once I realized that he was okay, it was like a one woman comedy routine.
Well, I’m glad I’m already pregnant, you may be a dud from now on.
Go ahead, hot stuff–see what happens when you don’t listen.
Well, that was shocking!
You know, that’s not how most people go through electro-shock therapy.
If you don’t want to be with me for a little while, you can just say so. You don’t have to maim yourself.
And on and on. I’m pretty sure his ticket to heaven is putting up with me. (I just realized I could have been calling him “Sparky” all of these years. Damn…an opportunity missed.)
If you’re feeling sorry for him, don’t worry. Karma recently made a visit to your humble writer on his behalf. We started repainting the house last November, and I was having an exceptionally accident-prone day (nothing new for me unfortunately). I had already twisted my knee and spilled paint–twice, so Jeremy told me to “take a break” from painting for a while and to just tape up the electrical sockets. He probably thought I couldn’t screw up something so simple. He was wrong.
He told me to be careful when taping over the receptacles, to be sure not to touch the sides of them–they’ll throw off a spark. Well, I listened to that advice when it came to the outlet, but I didn’t realize that advice went for the light switches as well. I touched the side of the light socket, and we actually heard a “Bzzzzt” sound. My finger turned purple in a little spot and I felt funny for the rest of the day. We both had a good laugh at my expense–we’re sick, I know. Don’t judge, it works for us.
Like I said, marriage is electrifying.
Still in my first pregnancy and shortly after we purchased our property, The Husband taught me another lesson–how to be persistent. Jeremy and I are proof that opposites do, in fact, attract. Over years, we’ve become this wonderful mesh of two individuals mixed into one, but in the beginning, we were very different. I was a city girl who loved unusual alternative music, playing pool, and the night–really, I could’ve been nocturnal. He was a country boy who preferred the day, loved animals and country music. We were quite a pair. So, when we bought our property, of course Country Boy wanted livestock. Over the years, we’ve had horses, cows, a sheep, a donkey (no joke), and a pig. We never had a farm, we’d usually have one animal at a time, and we haven’t had farm animals in the past 8 years (Thank God!).
Well, this story is about a pig…a pig named Pork Chop. Yes, I know, Jeremy is hilarious.
One day, Pork Chop got out of his pen, and he was running rampant. Have you ever seen a pig run? Those suckers are surprisingly quick! I was instantly amused. If YouTube would’ve been as easily accessible back then, these events would be on video. I probably wouldn’t have been too much of a help to begin with–eww, it’s a pig!–but I was about 30 weeks pregnant, so I really did have to stay away. So, I grabbed a seat and proceeded to watch Jeremy chase this pig around our property. It was the best free entertainment ever! Here he was, dirty and sweaty, running in circles, screaming, “Pork Chop, come here!” Pork Chop wasn’t stupid; Pork Chop’s name was going to be his fate in a very short while. No way was he going to obediently come to the one who would be his chauffeur to the butcher shop.
After a while, I went into the house. It was actually getting dark, and I really thought Pork Chop had won this round. But, Jeremy was persistent. He stayed out for hours, chasing that stupid pig. I was taking a break from cooking supper, when the front door flew open. There Jeremy stood, looking like hell, dripping with sweat, full of grass, panting.
He had one hand on his hip, pointing at himself with his other thumb, and very proudly said, “Ain’t no pig gonna get the best of me!”
Of all the moments in our life together, this is the one I most wish was photographed. I can still very clearly see the pride on Jeremy’s face, even through all of the grime. He was so pleased with himself, that I even withheld from teasing his horrible grammar–that’s love, guys.
More recently, The Husband taught me a very valuable lesson. He taught me how to prioritize. I know men have a reputation for being wusses when they’re sick. I think that theory is not completely accurate; I know some men (my dad, for one) who never complain when they’re sick. My husband, however, is not one of these men. When I get a cold, he takes NyQuil. He’s been like that our entire marriage, and it makes me crazy. And, I’m such a horrible wife; I give him no sympathy. I figure if I’m not allowed to get sick, neither is he.
Since I’ve been diagnosed with MS, I figured he’d learn some perspective when it comes to being sick. Once again, I was wrong.
I had been in a really bad relapse for the last two months, when this happened:
“Uuuuugggghhhhh.” –Jeremy, sitting in the middle of the bed, hunched over.
“What’s wrong with you?” –Me, trying to get dressed for bed, failing miserably.
“I don’t know. Uuugghhhhh….. I…ooooohhhhh…don’t feel good.”
He continues to moan and groan for the next few minutes. Meanwhile, I’m having issues just trying to change clothes. I’m literally falling into the wall because my left leg doesn’t seem to want to work. I can’t see the pant leg in my pj’s due to blurry vision, so I keep stepping on the pants instead of into them. I actually need to concentrate on these simple tasks, but all I hear is “Oooooohhhhhh…..Uuuuuuugggghhhhhh…..” I look at him, all hunched over, and I was getting ticked off. Wondering if a zombie apocalypse was about to start in my own bedroom, with my own husband, I finally throw down the pj pants and yell, “What the hell is the matter with you?!? Are you dying?!?”
“I think–uugghhh–I have a gas—BBBUUUURRRRRRRPPPPPPPP! Whew! That’s better.”
Now some wives may be kind. Some may feel sorry for the husbands who have a painful gas bubble. Some may not mind the belch that sounds like something from another planet.
I’m not that wife.
“Are you freaking kidding me?!? You’re over there, acting like you’re dying–because of a burp!!! I can’t freaking see, Jeremy. I’m falling into walls. I can’t even dress myself without feeling like a drunk, and you’ve been wailing because of gas?!? Well, thank the Lord, you didn’t have to fart!!! We’d be in the emergency room! Or worse yet, take a crap! Praise Jesus that your bowels are working correctly; I’d hate for you to have any discomfort! Suck it up you big baby!”
See? Priorities. His wittle tum tum hurt. He had a itty bitty burp stuck. Shame on me for interrupting his gas by thudding into walls. I really should learn to be more considerate.
I was really angry. He just laughed. Gas has been his source of entertainment and torture for years.
This is my life, people. Fascinating, ain’t it?
In all reality, The Husband has to have a good sense of humor to put up with me. I’m not an easy person to live with at times (although, neither is he). Marriage is hard. People don’t tell you that when you’re getting married. They don’t tell you that there will be really bad times. Personally, I think the strength of a marriage is really shown in the bad times. We’ve had so many trials in our marriage, more so than the average couple. But, each time we come through the trial, sometimes stronger, sometimes a little wounded. But, together nonetheless. Out of everything that The Husband has taught me, the most important is this: marriage is truly beautiful. Over the past two months, we’ve been really challenged on our marital vows. For richer or poor? We’ve racked up over $5000 in out-of-pocket medical expenses by February 7. In sickness and health? I’ve been seriously ill. For better or worse? Well, it hasn’t been better lately. Besides sickness, we’ve had 2 family deaths recently.
Through it all, he has been there. On the days when I wasn’t steady enough to cook, he’d come home from work to fix supper. He’s helped the boys with homework. He’s taught my CCD class for me. He’s done the laundry and the dishes, paid the bills, gone grocery shopping, etc, etc, etc. And, although I struggle with guilt, I have to remind myself that this is marriage. There were many years when I had to handle every single thing, when Jeremy was never home. Marriage is a give and take. We’re called to serve each other. And, if you’re each serving the other, it can be such a beautiful experience.
If you’re married, love your spouse, even when they’re not lovable. Because when hard times hit–and they will–you may find that you only have each other.
I may give my husband a lot of hell, but I do love that man. I’m appreciative of everything he has been called to do, and I thank God for him daily.
Except for the gas. I could do without that…