dear husband,

Dear Husband and Children,

I love you. I picked you. My sweet husband, I chose to spend my life with you when I was 18 years old, and I chose to have these babies with you because I never doubted you are the most amazing husband and father imaginable. From day one, you made it clear to me that your role as a husband and a father is not secondary or simply background noise. You made it clear from day one that I won’t spend my life complaining that you don’t help out around the house or that I have to ask you eleventy billion times to do laundry or dishes. You just do those things. You cook, clean, do laundry, make beds, clean toilets, mop, vacuum rugs, clean the porches, pool deck, cars, work on homework with the kids and fill out their emergency forms when it’s time to go back to school.

You help them shop for school supplies and shoes and clothes and backpacks. You run the errands and pack four lunch boxes for the kids every single day. You make breakfast and snacks, and you leave the house at 7 am to drive our two oldest girls to their schools and then you pick them up every afternoon so that I can take the two little ones to and from school and not be in my car 100 hours a day. You take kids to and from practices and sports. You never miss their games or award ceremonies or open houses. You practice throwing and catching, swimming, biking, and having fun with the kids. You tuck them in at night and cut their meat and walk them to the restrooms at restaurants. You hold their hands and wipe their faces and taught them to tie their shoes.

You are, without a doubt, the most amazing father and husband in the world – and you do it all without complaint while also working full time to provide for us and give us this amazing life we live. And you do every bit of this without one complaint because you love us and acts of service is your love language.

And kids – you are the four most wonderful kids I know. You are sweet, gracious, kind, patient, loving, silly, fun, intelligent children. You are delightful.

But every fucking one of you is driving me crazy.

And husbands and children…I’m speaking for millions of moms in the world. Not all of them, no – but many of them. We love you. We would die for you. We would lay down our lives for our husbands and children, but we sometimes fantasize about kicking you all right in the kneecap and not feeling even remotely bad about it.

No matter how many dishes you do, husbands…no matter how much laundry you do, nor the fact that you fold it, hang it up, and put it all away. No matter how many decadent meals you cook or lunch boxes you pack or bugs you kill or monsters under the bed that you chase away…you are missing one thing. Kids, listen; because you’re all missing it.

Us moms? We are overstimulated. Why? Because that calendar that lets our families know who has to be somewhere when and where and how and whatever – that calendar is created by moms, and it’s in our brains. We don’t need the electronic/paper/wall hanging version of it. We might not remember to get ourselves to the gynecologist or dentist, but we know when your last dental cleaning was, what you weighed at your last well check, how much you’ve grown this year, your birthdates, social security numbers, height in inches and centimeters and millimeters. We don’t remember what we ate for breakfast (did we even eat breakfast??) but we know exactly how all four kids and our husbands like every single meal or item they eat.

We know your Starbucks orders by heart, your shoe sizes, clothes sizes, and exactly where to find every single tiny, innocuous little thing ever in the history of our homes without hesitation. Need ‘that one pair of black lululemon leggings you wore to that one place that one time?” Okay, they’re in your second drawer to the right of your dresser under your green, red, and blue lululemon leggings, and they’re folded next to your yellow ones and the tank tops you love. We know that. But we can’t remember to respond to a text we read right before the light turned green and we had to put down the phone and drive.

To my own sweet husband, I love that you help the kids pick out their clothes and you pack their bags when they’re going away for a night and make sure they have dry clothes and towels when we go to a friend’s house and know they’ll be swimming. But you know what? Even when you’re doing all of that,  you’re still coming into the bathroom while I’m doing three girls’ hair and listening to our son give me a weather forecast and asking me to double check what you’ve picked out and you’re sending the kids into the bathroom while I’m blow drying my hair to ask if this matches and that matches and is this bathing suit is okay for daddy to pack for me?

Everyone in this house has their own bathroom to use, but you all use mine…and only when I’m getting ready. I’ve made the plans, been asked about everyone’s outfit, whether or not we need other things, what else can you do to help me get everyone ready, and blah blah blah. My brain hasn’t stopped working and I’m constantly a little sweaty and a lot overwhelmed…

…AND THEN.

Then you all are ready, and my freshly washed hair is almost dry even though I need to blow it dry and straighten it. I can’t, though, because you all decide to come into the bathroom. Suddenly, you need a shower. It doesn’t matter that our bathroom is large or open or airy, it’s fucking humid and hot when I’m blow drying my hair and you’re showering. You’ve had all day to shower, but you decide it must be done right now, every single time. I get it, though. You did need to go through your hat collection this morning and put all of them carefully into the dishwasher and wash them, lay them out to dry, and then spend 58 minutes outside playing football with Carter.

I get it. You had to spend 45 minutes on the phone with your mom even though you knew we were in a hurry and a million things needed doing. I get it. You had to measure that one wall to see if that one thing you’re thinking of buying that you began dreaming about after seeing an Instagram reel 30 minutes ago. These are all necessary things. I get it.

But I do have to ask…what is it like to just do whatever, whenever you want and not have a care in the world about anyone’s schedule or needs? What’s it like to not think to yourself, “How can I best schedule MY day and MY needs and MY life so that it’s most convenient to everyone else?” Knowing damn well that your needs, your schedule, and your wants will immediately be put to the side so that everyone else is happier first? Because that’s what my life is like. I don’t get the luxury of deciding I want to do anything or everything at the drop or a hat or just getting to take a shower whenever. Everything I do is meticulously planned in advance so that I don’t inconvenience, interrupt, or complicate any of your lives.

What’s it like to have someone tell you everything you need to know when you ask about it? What’s it like to not have to keep everyone’s schedule in your mind all the time? What is it like to wake up and know that you have to leave in two hours for something but you also have to approve 5 outfits and pick out your own, approve everything that goes into the pool bag, approve all the snacks, and all the things, and do all the girl’s hair, and then shower, do your own hair and makeup, and still try to leave on time when your entire family stands around in your way? You’re all ready to go, and I’m trying to get myself ready, but you’re standing in front of the sinks brushing your teeth and doing your hair when I need to wash makeup or hair stuff off my hands. The kids are dancing in my full-length mirror so I can’t see if I like my outfit. You are standing in the bathroom doing Carter’s hair in front of my make up drawer so I can’t get my makeup out. You are showering while I’m trying to blow my hair and it’s so humid I need another shower because the humidity is like a trip to hell on a hot day. I spend the entire time I’m getting ready asking you all to please move, my feet are being stepped on, my stuff is being moved around, I can’t wash my hands or wet my beauty blender when I need to because suddenly 3 of you are all using my bathroom for your own needs even though these kids all have their own bathrooms to use.

Truly, what is it like for the five of you to not really have to make any decisions because you’re all going to come to me for final approval anyway? What’s it like to just go about your day knowing that every minor detail of your life is handled, accounted for, and done, and all you have to do is half get ready because I’ll finish getting you ready and then I’ll get myself ready but not really because you’re all in my way and talking to me and taking up all my personal space.

AND THEN…

After all this mental overload, you’re all going to ask me where we are going for dinner.

You guys…I want. No, I NEED 30 minutes. I need 30 minutes to get myself ready. I can blow dry my hair, put on a full face of makeup, pick an outfit, get my handbag ready, put my jewelry on, and be out the door in 30 minutes if you guys just STAY AWAY FROM ME. Stay out of our bedroom. Stay out of our bathroom. Go away.

I don’t even mind that everything like your schedules and outfit picking and final approval falls on me and my already overloaded mental load. I’m the mom and the wife, and those things are things I do. I know this. I’m not complaining that you’re playing with the kids or participating in things that make you happy – because we all fucking know you say zero words to me when I pick up my book and proceed to pretend none of you exist for an hour or two.

All I’m asking is that you guys respect my time, too. I spend 100 percent of my life putting you guys first and doing everything I can do to make your lives seamless, simple, easy, and fulfilled, and I’d like 30 minutes in which all five of you do the same for me when it’s time to get ready to go somewhere. That’s all. I just need 30 minutes in which you guys have planned ahead, thought about me and my time in the same way that I think about you and your time, and let me turn on my 90s hip hop and get ready in peace without anyone bothering me. You can have the other 23 hours and 30 minutes of my day. It is yours. Happily. But give me 30 minutes, please, to get ready without interruption so that I have a chance to feel pretty, put together, and not frazzled or hurried or stressed or rushed or haphazardly put together for the rest of the day. That time I’m getting ready really does set the tone for my mood. Keep that in mind.

And please note that I don’t say this to diminish the seven million things that you guys do for me on a daily basis. You are all so good at keeping the house clean and tidy, keeping our lives in order, taking care of your own responsibilities and schedules, and you’re all complimentary and kind, sweet and loving. You all make me feel so loved and cherished and happy every single day. I never question your love for me.

But really – it doesn’t matter how many loads of laundry you do or how many times you cook or clean or walk the dog or make your own beds or clean your own bathrooms…I can’t explain it. Those 30 minutes? They’re more important than just applying contour and highlight and the perfect shade of red or pink lipstick. Those 30 minutes are necessary for us as moms to breathe, unwind, mentally prepare ourselves for whatever we are about to do (and not feel sweaty and gross trying to rush through it all).

But more importantly, those 30 minutes are about respect. They’re about us knowing that our families, who we spend 24/7 thinking about and taking care of, think of us, too. We, as moms, so often feel that our needs are overlooked or forgotten and as if they are not as important or as much of a priority as everyone else’s needs. I can’t speak for everyone, but I know my family respects my needs and my feelings and they love me, appreciate me, and show me. They make me feel lovely and wonderful, and they show their appreciation for everything I do for them…but those 30 minutes? Those 30 minutes would make me happier than a little blue box with a new piece of jewelry to add to my collection.

I know you guys value me and my needs, but I think that you each sometimes forget that there is one of me making sure that five of you have the best life, the best of everything, love, attention, respect, and everything else in your life – and 99.9% of the time, you’re getting that because I, myself, am putting me last to make sure you are first. Multiplied by five.

Honey, I love everything you do for me and our family. I love that you don’t view certain things as the mom or wife’s job. If it needs doing, you do it. I love that you send me flowers and hold doors and ask me what I want first and pour me the last of the wine and put me and the kids first. I love that every single day of our life together, you do everything you can think of to make my life easier and that you don’t make life harder for me or put everything on my shoulders. I appreciate it more than I can ever express to you. Maybe you could plan your shower in advance so that I am not blowing my hair dry at that time?

But most importantly, honey, I need that 30 minutes before I get my own episode of 60 Minutes, okay?

I love you all so much more than I could ever tell you with mere words.