It’s not that I try to hide anything from my spouse, but I’m not completely honest. When he comes in at the end of the day, and by end I mean dark-thirty (even in the summer), he’s typically confronted by a certain scene. The kids aren’t always in pajamas, and they may be half-naked, but they’re clean. The same goes for the living room floor. My home is far from pristine. There’s just no way it can be at this phase of my life, and I’ve died to my clean freak self, but I do try and keep it tidy. The floorboards are disgusting, and the screen door has smudges, but by-golly I keep some semblance of a clean house. Not real clean, but it looks livable, and it keeps my left eye from twitching when I look around.
Point is, before my husband is due to walk in the door I like to do a final sweep. I don’t want him walking in and tripping over a pile of toys, and though he’s not blind to how messy our girl brood can be, I still fold all the blankets and throw the toys in the overcrowded toy box before he arrives. I want him to walk into a relaxing, nice environment after a long day. Even though that’s hard to come by. I don’t do this because I feel forced to as his stay-at-home wife, and it’s not even out of guilt because he’s been working all day; because heck, I’ve been working all day too! Homeschooling and mothering ain’t no joke; it’s tough! I may have picked up those same blocks twelve times that day, but I do it one more time before he walks through the door because I love him. A clean floor is just one of the weird ways I tell him so without saying a word.
Yesterday when he came home I had done the same routine and the girls had helped by picking up their messes. The baby sat in her high chair eating her dinner and I stood in the kitchen cutting up vegetables for a salad, and taking freshly fried porkchops off the stove eye. We all enjoyed a delicious dinner, and later as I put some leftovers away he called out to me from the other room.
Thank you for always having dinner ready for me when I come home.
I replied, “you’re welcome. I do it because I love you.”
I know. It’s one of the ways you tell me you love me, and I really appreciate it.
“Thanks for noticing,” I said. And I smiled as I put away the salad dressing.
Fixing a hot meal for my husband was a love language for me. It was one of the many ways I spoke my affection to him through actions rather than words. It went along with keeping our house in order, and trying not to bombard him with complaints about my day right when he walked in the door. Depending on the children’s behavior, that last one was a harder thing to keep from.
The fact was my husband didn’t expect clean floors, homemade meals, or even his clothes to be put away, but he noticed that I did. He knew the day I put in around the house, but the fact that I saved some of my spent energies from childcare on attending to his needs meant a great deal to him. It helped him to know something he already knew in his heart, but that was easy for busy parents of small children to forget. He was my number one. I may have to invest the majority of my time on taking care of the baby or educating the other girls, but the best part of me was still reserved for my spouse. My days might be crazy and exhausting for me as a mother, but the woman he first married still existed within those sketchy yoga pants. And that woman took time to show him she cared.
And he noticed.
I guess that was the best part for me. It let me know I was his number one too. Even though the majority of his time was spent running his business, when he came home he had his eyes open to me and my contributions to our marriage. I often spoke my love in meatloaf and laundry. He spoke his in thoughtful text messages and compliments to the chef. Neither of us doubted our importance to the other, and that spoke volumes for sure.
In the end the recipe for a happy marriage was much the same as any meal I made. It took attention to detail, always being mindful of what was under pressure/heat, and ensuring consistency in what you put into your endeavor. I never wanted my marriage to become that “old hat” main course that I knew so well by memory that I neglected it and let it burn. I wanted to keep stirring the passion of my marriage and adding flavor in the form of my actions of love. I didn’t serve my spouse out of obligation; I served him out of love. And I spoke that in the best ways I knew how. No matter what your love language may be the most important thing is to speak it fluently. And then to take notice of how your partner does the same.