story

this is a story I wrote as a vignet of (what I would hope) married life would be like. (yes I'm the male in this story.)(and yes I know its a bit idealistic)

so what does actualy happen when a spouse comes home from work harried and harassed, to come home to an already harried and harassed spouse at home? (and potentionaly a kid who's not being the sweet little angel we'd like her to be?)

I'm really curious.

now, did you get those markers' faces off the wall or not??

"what really happens" is probably different scenarios.
1. teh husband has to rest a bit and then everyone eats supper and then clean up together.
2. they eat supper and the husband notes how his wife couldn't clean up before he came, even though she was the whole day (happens only outside of h.com world, of course)
3. it doesn't get cleaned up that night.
4. the husband cleans up and plays with the kid(s) while the wife coos the supper.
5. they order teh take out.
6. they eat supper, and the husband goes off to a shiur/night seder and the wife cleans up in peace and quiet (NO bashing the kollel system allowed now, it's NOT the point i'm trying to make).

there are many other scenarios. but one thing is for sure: you story can't be an all the time occurence. if it is, the man must be an angel.

Basically the husband would come home and relax a bit, eat supper, play with his kids, talk a bit to his wife, then go out with friends, to shul, whatever depending on the guy. Then he'd come home and either go to sleep or talk more or whatever. Mostly, in such a situation it is important that the wife should know how to make her husband feel good after a long, hard day.

What happens is that something breaks eventually, it's a voodoo rite. Like a cup or the washing machine. And then someone mops it up in angry silence.
And then somebody makes love to that someone, or they don't.
And maybe someone doesn't want a hug, because they want their space. So the other person has learnt to shut up.
Everybody ends up doing their chores, and some of the family members go for a private jog.

And around dawn, somebody crawls over to snuggle with somebody else.

Unless, of course, the man of the house - whoever wears the pants - knows how to manipulate the feminine temperament, and make things very bearable.

I'm in a filthy temper when MH comes home. The kids are on vacation, it's been raining so I couldn't take them to the park, and all they've done all day is kill each other and break things around the house, including my favorite photo frame that held a photo of my late father. I can't wait for him to come home and take some of the load off me; amuse the kids, help me a little before bed time. But he comes home talking on his cell phone, still caught up in his world of work. This just makes me want to spit blood. I fling the baby at him; she's been screaming for the past hour and I've had enough. "Here..you take her. I've had it up to HERE." "Can't you see I'm on the phone?" he snaps back, catching the baby instinctively nevertheless.

"Oh really? I'd never have noticed..." I say, dripping with sarcasm.

"Yes, I'm trying to make some money for THIS family so we can EAT!" he yells back.

He looks around the house. The kids have wrecked the living room; there's broken glass on the carpet that she must have missed clearing up, and there's no supper on the table. In reality he is feeling guilty. He has just been asked to give a shiur starting at 8 and it's now 7 so there's not a lot of time and he was hoping to get supper and go. Now he sees a wife who isn't coping, no meal, and he is thinking of the enjoyable time he has ahead giving his shiur, leaving his wife to cope with yet more chaos.

He goes into the study and makes another call.

"That bl**dy phone will become attached to your head!" I yell, slamming his study door so I don't have to watch him. I sit down at the kitchen table and cry.

"Wassa matter Mommy?" my two year old says, stroking my arm. Sobbing, I cuddle her close. The 8 yr old twin boys carry on fighting, oblivious to my weeping.

He emerges from the study, snapping shut his cell phone.

"I've cancelled the shiur I was just asked to give tonight," he said, and I look up through my tears, aware of what a huge sacrifice that is for him; he adores giving shiurim.

"And I've ordered takeout," he continues. "For everyone. Chinese. Lots of it."

"The kids have already eaten," I say, unable to restrain myself from this last barbed comment even while the healing begins, "do you honestly think I wouldn't have fed them by seven?"

The twins have miraculously stopped fighting. "Oh we can eat a second supper Mom, no sweat," they say. The others chime in, in agreement.

"We didn't like the supper you made anyhow," the six year old says innocently, hoping to please.

"And now," my husband says, "it's clean up time. Anyone who doesn't help to clean up, won't get any Chinese. The ones who help the most will get to open the takeout boxes."

There is a huge flurry of activity. I keep my head down, on my arms, on the kitchen table, still unwilling to admit things are looking up. I hear glass being swept up, cushions being replaced, toys being put away, the carpets are even vacuumed and the kitchen floor is mopped around my feet. Within five minutes the house is spotless and my husband has ordered the older kids to run a bath for the younger ones.

"Dad," says our bechora, 12 yrs old and wise way beyond her years, "it's really dumb to bath the kids BEFORE eating Chinese."

Dad concedes the brilliance of this. And even I dry my tears and smile. I look at my husband and mouth a silent "thank you" at him and he nods back in recognition. Then I wink and he knows how the evening will end.

That was very sweet!

Thanks