I recently went out in the morning to run a quick errand and left the girls with my husband. We were due to leave for a party as soon as I got back so I gently asked him to get the girls ready. Gently, because it was a Saturday. A restful day. And also because he and the girls were watching the Formula 1, a favourite pastime of theirs, one to interrupt with caution.
Everything was laid out; party dresses were hung up and shoes were by the door. Easy. I nipped out, calm and relieved that the day was going to plan. I really can’t stand being late so was chuffed that my husband was on board with the get-the-girls-ready-to-go-bang-on-time plan.
Whilst out, I got held up by traffic and a lunatic who should have his license revoked. It’s like he waited, saw me coming, waited some more, made eye contact with me, and then decided it was a good idea to pull out. Just to make sure that I could hit him. Thankfully I didn’t. Obviously I calmly applied the brakes, smiled my gracious forgiveness and went on my merry way…. That’s definitely an accurate portrayal of events.
So then I was running late and feeling even more grateful that my husband was holding the fort. I zoomed into our parking space, hurtled upstairs and flung open the door expecting to see them all standing there with shoes on and bags at the ready.
They were not.
They were sitting in front of the screen, still in their pyjamas, hair wild and breakfast around their mouth (the last description applies only to my toddler, not my husband).
Not wanting to be a dictator-kind of wife, I made some passive-aggressive ‘joke’ to my toddler about not being ready and, haha, we were going to be so late now and wasn’t that so funny!? Bless my husband, he looked very sheepish which did help me to feel vindicated.
To cut a long story short, we got to the party fashionably late looking relatively decent.
Anyway, fast-forward to the next weekend. This time, we were hurtling round in the morning, with no time to spare, trying to get all four of us up and out. My wonderful husband had given me the most precious treat of a lie-in, and then had watched the girls whilst I nipped out to the gym. What would I do without him? Have less sleep and less exercise, that’s for sure.
I was slapping on a bit of make-up and throwing on some clothes when my daughter walked in. I had just been making a mental still-to-do list and had thought that she wasn’t yet dressed and that we hadn’t yet brushed her teeth or hair. I looked down. She was dressed! Her hair was up! Her breath smelt minty! My husband must have taken charge, found extra minutes in the morning and got her up and ready!
It didn’t matter that she was wearing quite a bizzare match of clothing; more than a few bold prints were going on and colours that wouldn’t necessarily compliment each other were side by side. It was a creative choice of outfit. Her ponytail could have been described as fashionabley messy, and maybe my husband had intended to give it a wonky edge to try out a new style.
I was just so grateful that he had taken on getting her ready so that I could have some me-time.
To show my gratitude, I changed her entire outfit and redid her hair.
Poor guy. Phrases like “can’t win” and “why do I bother” came up amidst laughing when he saw our daughter’s wardrobe change and me in the background looking a whole lot more sheepish than he did the first time.