A Wife's Duty
"A man's home is his castle, and as such, he ought to be treated like a king. When he returns home from a demanding eight hours on the job (or more!), he rightfully deserves a bit of pampering. It's every wife's responsibility to dote upon her hard-working spouse, to show that he is truly appreciated. When your husband walks through the front door, take his coat and guide him to his favorite easy chair. Offer him the evening newspaper, his slippers and a dry martini to take the edge off. If he appears fatigued or cranky from his traffic-laden commute, a relaxing foot rub or shoulder massage may be in order. Likewise, nothing says "Welcome home, dear," better than an ear-to-ear expression of your love--that's right, a smile! With just one glance at your face, your husband should know that his very presence marks the pinnacle of your day. Just as it would be unthinkable to serve frozen TV dinners or reheated leftovers to an honored guest, these offerings should not be considered acceptable dinner fare for the man you adore. Give him a hearty home-cooked meal--one that's prepared from scratch and seasoned with love. The hours you spend over a hot stove will be repaid in full when he eagerly asks for seconds........
Oh my. Where do I even begin?! Are you laughing? If you are, then you must be with me, and your life probably mirrors mine to some degree. And if you aren't, then you should probably stop reading here--lol.
Yes, gone are the days when a man is considered the "King of his Domain". And what was once his "castle" looks more like something a tornado just blew threw--toys, clothes, dishes, you name it--scattered on every surface despite your best efforts to tidy up throughout the day. And despite your desire to be a loving, doting wife, you've been with your little ones all day and by the time your "King" walks through your door, you're exhausted and ready for a break. In fact, before he even arrives home, you've called him at least three times to check on his progress at work, to see if he will be arriving home on time--praying perhaps even early. And when he does arrive, it takes every amount of energy you possess not to "pass off" the fussiest child into his arms before he even steps foot through the door. Your "doting" amounts to phrases such as "Thank GOD you're home" or "It's about time." He's given less than 2 minutes to change and compose himself, when you holler up to him, "Dinner's ready! Get to the table!" You don't mean to rush dinner, but it is the "Witching Hour" after all, and with each passing minute the kids are getting hungrier, and thereby fussier. It's do or die. "Hurry up! It's getting cold! The kids are fussy!" you holler a few more times, each time with more urgency (and irritation) in your voice. Once everyone is finally seated and ready, you notice that no one looks terribly pleased by what you've prepared for supper. "What is it?" is a question you hear often, followed by, "Ewwwww! I don't like that!" or sometimes a "Well, that sure has an interesting aftertaste." You occasionally make the effort to prepare everything from scratch, but most nights you get a little help from your good friend, Betty Crocker. And those vegetables that once took hours to simmer over a hot stove, now get steamed in the microwave in under five minutes flat. Sometimes you feel guilty about this, but in the end you are reconciled with the fact that you once read in an article that frozen/canned vegetables are often healthier than fresh. You tell yourself, "I'm doing it for the nutritional value, not because it's convenient." Lol. Of course, convenience is important these days. And since there isn't much time in the day to spend slaving over a hot stove (what with the diapers to change, and the lunch to prepare, the timeouts to dish out, and the boo-boos to kiss, and the games to play, and the stories that need read, and the naps that need had), you often prepare meals on the weekends, and freeze, so they will be ready during the week. This makes you feel a little better. At least at some point the meal was home-cooked, even if it ends up reheated. And if you remember in the morning, you'll put one of the pre-prepared meals into the crock pot to simmer so that it will be ready come dinnertime. Most days, though, 3pm hits, you suddenly realize you have no idea whats for dinner and that you haven't set out any meat. Sigh. As far as the typical dinner conversation goes, it usually comes w/some form of threats and consequences, along w/some hardline negotiations. "Eat those 3 pieces of broccoli, then you may get down." To which you hear, "Do I haaaaaaave to? How about just 1?" When you concede w/2 bites, it is like watching a prisoner nibble on a piece of poison for the next 40 minutes. Torture for you both. The other child, though, has finished off his plate, and before you've had a chance to cut up his meat into pieces, he's crying for more. He shovels it in faster than you can cut. Although, to be fair, half of it ends up all over the floor. Double sigh. You're up and down from the table at least a dozen times, taking orders, refilling glasses, reheating dishes. You're certain the next time you update your resume you can add "waitress" to your list of former jobs. Once the children are done and wiped clean, you send them off to play. You inhale your meal, which is totally cold at this point. Despite your exhaustion, the table is covered in dirty dishes, and the kitchen looks like a bomb went off--especially if you made something from scratch. Triple sigh. You lean back in your chair and pause for perhaps the first time that day. At long last you look your husband in the eye, smile, and say, "So, how was your day?"
Of course, for the most part, that's us. And some parts of me are glad that's us--imperfections and all. The "June Clever" expectation (a spotless home, a five course dinner made from scratch, quiet/obedient children, and a flawless figure) are impossible expectations to live up to. And I'm glad I'm no longer expected to. I doubt very many housewives even in that generation followed those rules perfectly. And if they came close, I'm sure it's because they spent every waking hour toiling in their homes, only to the neglect of their children. After all, it doesn't take a mathmatician to realize that hours spent over the stove means hours spent away from your children--with the exception of those mothers who seem to possess super powers w/their ability to prepare the perfect rack of lamb, while folding laundry, and juggling a game of Candyland. But that's not me. And I choose spending time w/my kids over a perfect home any day.
Despite the hilarity of these first few chapters, I do think it has caused me to pause and reflect on the sort of wife and mother I want to be. The book writes: "Just as it would be unthinkable to serve frozen TV dinners or reheated leftovers to an honored guest, these offers should not be considered acceptable dinner fare for the man you adore." Sure, its tongue and check. But in a way, I think they are right. We often treat the ones we love the most the least. They get our leftovers. I know I've personally been very guilty of that. I reserve my best manners and kindest gestures for strangers--or people I hardly know. And by the same token, I dish out some of my worst attitudes for the ones I love so dearly. I claim to love God, but spend far more time watching TV than I do in His word. I claim to love my husband and children more than life, and yet, they get my leftovers. To be fair, I'm sure part of that is because we feel safe enough to give those people our leftovers. We know they love us, so somehow that makes it okay--to be real, to be honest, to let it out. And I think, too, there's some good that comes from that.
But at the same time I know for me at least, when it comes to my life and family, I would like to do better about serving them the best of me and not something just lukewarm. And above all am so grateful that despite the fact that I am very, very far from being the perfect wife and mother, that in the end I am made perfect in Him.
"But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me." 2 Corinthians 12:9
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Check back next week for more from our series! :)
**Photo Credits:
"Then" picture courtesy of The Good Wife Guide. "Now" picture, courtesy of our daughter and photographer, Elizabeth! (which on a totally unrelated note, taking these pics (usually after church on Sunday) has been hilarity in and of itself. And once we are done w/the series, I'll have to post some pics of our outtakes--oh my! Fun, fun!)
