… and other phenomena of the husband kind.

I find myself huffing in annoyance when sorting out his attempt to pack the dishwasher. He has seemingly not calculated the maximised available space-to-ickiness-of-surface ratio. He is certainly unaware of the rule that some items are specifically ‘top shelf only’.

He experiments with recipes. 🙁 Often, on the weekend, he’ll make pancakes for breakfast. His mum gave him a recipe book when he left home. He opens the book at the appropriate page, then ad-libs with whatever he can find. It’s enough to put me off pancakes for life. The kids love it, though.

He dresses my son in the ‘wrong clothes’ all.. the.. time.  I dress our son for maximised cuteness; he just grabs the first articles of clothing he sees. He has even been known to try the plaid-on-plaid style, completely unaware of the possibility of nauseating eye strain on whoever glances at our son in public.

Realisation

All of these petty annoyances are about him helping me. It’s not about him spending his pay packet gambling, coming home drunk or ignoring his children.

I get a jolt back to reality when I remember friends of mine whose husbands have chosen to be with someone else. My husband daily chooses to be a God-chaser and to devote his time and energy to me and the sweet children we brought into the world together.

So I guess I should just chill about the dishwasher debacle, right? Instead, I’ll send him a text with a message of gratefulness for something he has said or done for us, and I’ll be grateful he even knows where the dishwasher is.