Priorities

I would like to know whose idea it was to put Mother's Day before Father's Day. Unless Mom resorts to the humiliation of informing Dad just how she'd like to be surprised on her special day, she has to rely on that most unfortunate of all creations: a man's ability to remember a special day. As in, not HIS special day. Someone else's. Who on earth do you think advises Dad on what to buy for gifts? Who do you think plans vacations? Who do you think buys greeting cards? See, if Father's Day were to come first, then Mom's special day would have a fighting chance. Dad might see what a big to-do Mom and the kids make out of HIS special day and that would hopefully lead to the conclusion that perhaps he ought to step up to the plate and do something similar for Mom. Father's Day in May, then Mother's Day a month later...I know that's a stretch, but it's certainly better than waiting until next year. Dad might be able to remember that long. Men - God bless 'em - are so good at so many things; they do so much, they work so hard. (I know I'm generalizing; humor me.) You wouldn't think something as little as remembering Mother's Day, a birthday, or an anniversary would be such a problem. But as the years have rolled on I'm realizing that those particular little factoids are lodged in memory somewhere between our favorite fingernail polish color and the conversion factor between Splenda and real sugar. It's low on the totem pole. Now, ask them the make and model of the first car they ever made out in, and, well....you see where I'm going with this. It's a matter of priorities.

Priorities. That's a loaded word. What's more important? What makes you get off your behind and do something, and what can wait til you feel like doing it? Who is more important? Who gets the good service, and who gets told sorry, the office is closed, come back tomorrow? Who gets the velvet glove treatment? When you are placed somewhere on someone's list of priorities, you get a really good, quick idea of how much you mean to that person.

Occasionally I do the unforgiveable and I get sick, or, if my back is acting up, I get hurt. I retire to bed. I try to run the place from bed but give up after a while because everyone's realized that I am down and unable to enforce most threats. Mom is no longer top dog and Dad's in charge. Oh, Lord. Have mercy. Dads, as we know, have their own way of doing things. So while I am in bed, surrounded by remote controls, books, homework and music practice charts, assorted toys, and a cat, Dad is putting himself in my shoes and trying to convince the kids that there's a new sheriff in town. It's hard to do that when he makes five meals in a row without a single vegetable or fruit. It's hard to do that when Sam, at age 4, reminds him that you're supposed to wash hands before you eat. And Daddy, we can't eat yet - we haven't said the blessing! Daddy, where are my pajamas? You didn't get my pajamas! I can't wear this to bed - I wore this to school! Daddy, that's not how you do it! Daddy, YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG!!!

Daddy has come home from a hard day on the construction site. Daddy woke up hours before sunrise, has done hard manual labor for 8 or 9 hours, breathing dust, listening to swearing men, and driven an hour to get home. Daddy comes home to a wife who is down for the count; he has to make dinner, wash a load because no one has any more clean underwear, chase after the kids to make sure they've done all their nighttime routines, and then...then he comes up to our room. He sits beside me, weariness oozing out of every pore, and asks, "How are you? What can I get you?"

Priorities. It's a big word. I don't need a number or a list to tell me that I am very high on his list. We made an agreement when we got engaged that I would treat him like a king if he would treat me like a queen. We're not talking about feelings. We're talking about acting on love. See, love can be a verb as well as a noun. He loves me, and the kids, by working every day. By coming home every day. By helping out around the house. Every time he calls me his pet name, "Beautiful", he's lying through his teeth, but I figure it's for a good cause. : ) He's there. He's dependable. He wakes up every day with an attitude that says, "I'm looking forward to another day with you." Even when the previous day has sucked lemons, he still does it.

Not too long after we got married, I wrote a list of things that, to me, embodied the feelings I got from this new partnership. Here they are:


If I Could Show You What Marriage Is Like…

…having your best friend with you…
…having someone who can read your mind (only occasionally…usually at the wrong times…) and finish your sentences (sometimes right, sometimes wrong)…
…having the assurance of another warm body in the house…
…feeling the yoke tug and sometimes yank hard when you both go in different directions or at different speeds…
…knowing that there’s someone in the world who really cares what happens to you…
…hearing yourself referred to as “wife” in the first few months (later, hearing yourself referred to as “mom”), and getting a thrilling shiver…
…determining just how far you’ll go in letting your new spouse see your worst sides (putting on pantyhose, for example, or flossing, or coloring your hair…it’s not pretty)…
…trying to figure out when your spouse really means what he/she says or lies out of gallantry, to save your feelings…
…trying to figure out which you want, gallantry or the truth…
…the feeling you get the first time your spouse is selfish or unthinking, and it hurts you…
…learning what’s really worth feeling hurt over…
…learning how to handle it gracefully when your spouse feels it necessary to wake you up just to tell you they love you…
…learning how to forgive and help your spouse out of trouble when he or she dug their own pit and deserve everything they have coming…
…seeing your checks and mailing labels with your married name…
…seeing your names in the phone book for the first time, together…
…the first time you can give married advice to someone else, and you turn out to be right…
…never, EVER, having to sit at the little table at Thanksgiving, ever again…
…being able to talk to anyone of the opposite sex about anything, because the pressure’s off and you don’t have to worry about what the other person is thinking…
…learning just how important a role bathrooms play in the health of any marriage…
…discovering that it’s OK and healthy to want to be alone sometimes…
…realizing that once you’re married, is there really any point in not drinking out of the same glass, or not using the same fork?…your standards will adapt, but you probably won’t want to advertise it…
…working on a house project together and getting such a feeling of pride and family when it’s done…
…”nesting”, or keeping house together…
…your sudden willingness to get rid of years’ worth of stuff from your single life, but your firm decision to keep all 300 unused wedding napkins…
…that feeling of utter peace when you’re with your spouse…
…that feeling of absolutely mind-bending hysteria when you want to kill your spouse…
…being so in love with your spouse while a good friend is having trouble in his or her marriage, and you ache for them…
…looking forward to a future with the one you’ve chosen, knowing that he or she is just as committed to keeping you happy as you are to keeping them happy.

So, really, I guess Mother's Day is year-round. Would I trade a year of devoted care for a single day of remembrance? Nope. Though I would like a rose that's NOT from the gas station.