Right so, I am going to admit to something. I am quite confident in the knowledge that I
am not the only person guilty of this crime.
That is no excuse but as I cannot speak for anyone except myself, this
is my and my admission alone. I neglect
Mister Husband. There! I’ve said it.
I am a negligent wife. Sure, he
gets his laundry done, his dinner cooked for him every (most) days. But I’m doing laundry anyway so I may as well
fill the machine and it’s as easy to cook for three as it is for one so his
name goes in the pot too. I couldn’t
leave him out, could I? Sometimes I even
make him a cup of coffee and when I do the shop I always ask him if there is
anything he needs. If I have to make a quick run into the supermarket in the
middle of the week for milk or bread, I’ll pick up that little 6 pack of beer
he likes. But he is well and truly
neglected in the affection department.
It’s something that hasn’t escaped my attention but like all the other
things I don’t want to face up to, I make like an ostrich and stick my head in
the sand. The thing is though, I cannot
pass the Screecher Creatures without touching them. If I think I can get away with it without
being swiped away in annoyance, I’ll drop a kiss on them. I usually throw in a
hair ruffle for good measure. Screecher
Creature No. 4 is in serious danger altogether of being squeezed to death but
thankfully it’s all a big game to him and he usually responds with a belly
laugh. The day will come when my kids
will push me away in frustration, embarrassed with all the affection I want to
lavish on them. As it is, Screecher
Creature No. 1 at only 6 years of age will scoot across the road to embark on
the school bus before I kiss him goodbye.
I don’t want Mister Husband to do the same. Push me away that is. He doesn’t use a school bus. I can,
and do use the excuse, that when I get 10 minutes to myself, I take it
literally. I will escape onto the
decking with a cup of tea, make that desperate bathroom visit, or just sit at
the table by myself, not wanting or needing to talk to anyone. The trouble though is, once you get into the
comfortable habit of a routine, it is very hard to break. Very hard indeed. I used to lavish affection and attention on
Mister Husband. Fast forward four young
lads later and he doesn’t get a look in.
The poor Jolly Phonics*. I read some good advice on a parenting website
once. It said, one day your kids will up
and leave you. On that day do you really want to look at your husband and see a
stranger. Someone you have side lined in
favour of or in deference to the kids over the years. A true and valid point. So what can be done about it? It’s one of those annoying ones where the
answer is in the question. Very simply,
start showing affection, become tactile again.
It doesn’t cost more than a second to kiss someone, to touch their hand
when you’re in conversation with them, go mad every once in a while and hug
them. I wouldn’t be known for my touchy
feelyness but that shouldn’t even enter the equation when it’s Mister
Husband. Once upon a time we used to
walk hand in hand down the street, sometimes our arms would even be round each
other. Granted, the pub would have been
visited and it was necessary for the support, but still. These days, if I’m not pushing a buggy, I’ve
got one of the Screecher Creatures by the hand and am running after another
one. Ditto Mister Husband. So I decided I was going to start small. I was going to make a conscious effort to
touch Mister Husband 5 times during the day, the objective being that after a
while, it would become second nature again.
I didn’t mention my game plan; I thought it might be a nice surprise. Or a bad shock. So I
walked past him and put my hand on the small of his back, let it rest there for
a second. I think he jumped a little bit
but he definitely asked was I alright. I
assured him I was just peachy and continued on.
That day, yesterday, Sunday, he got his arse felt, (let’s see how you like it!) there was a random kiss placed on his cheek,
he even felt the palm of my hand but as a caress and then I was stuck. What else could I do to make up my one of 5 a
day? He, at this stage, kept looking at
me. I didn’t ask him what was going through his head, but I’m sure he was
wondering what it was I had done as clearly I was in process of trying to break
something to him. Curiosity must’ve won,
or maybe all of my touchy feelyness during the day, unnerved him so he asked me
what was going on. He couldn’t believe his luck when I told him. He thought and still thinks it’s a wonderful
idea. Now I catch him with a different
look on his face and I nip it in the bud immediately. I tell him, lookit, it’s a quick smooch or
nothing, take it or leave it. He reckons I drive a hard bargain. I remind him that he’s got four kids, and he hasn’t
done too badly for himself. He’s forced
to agree. For a man who doesn’t eat
fruit and tends to ignore any veg that is on his plate, he’s awfully keen on
his 5 a day all of a sudden.
No comments:
Post a Comment