In my next life, I want to be a husband

In my next life, I want to be a husband
9 September 2013

The whole concept of reincarnation has a lot going for it.  Especially given the fact that simply dying and ceasing to exist doesn’t really hold a lot of appeal.  And therefore, if given an opportunity to come back again, I’ll grasp it with open hands.  Though technically I’m not sure I’ll get to have hands.

Now the only problem that I’ve got with the concept or reincarnation, is the fact that I don’t really get the point, if I don’t remember the previous lives.  How can one evolve and avoid making the same mistakes again and again, if you are unable to learn from the experiences you supposedly had in your supposed previous life?  Because you can’t darn well remember them?  Kind of defeats the whole purpose, right?  However, had I been something as small and seemingly inconsequential as an ant, then I suppose I don’t have all that many life lessons to carry forward.  Apart from an ability to carry more than double my body weight and walk in a straight line, seeming to play a never ending game of follow-the-leader.  And should the reverse be true and I evolve from what I am now, to a humble ant in my next life, then I suppose my knowledge of how to work the dishwasher won’t be all that handy and needed either.  So perhaps a residual memory is not important?

However, should I be given the opportunity to choose my life form, I know exactly what I want to be in my second life – a husband.

Now don’t get me wrong, husbands are generally hard working.  Mine definitely is.  Most of them go off to work every day.  Wherever that may be.  Doing whatever they might do.  They spend an 8 hour period of time working to earn their living, and then they come home.

But you see, here’s the tricky bit.  The at-home-bit.  In fact, it incorporates a whole lot of grey area.  And the reason for this is the classic division of labour dispute between husbands and wives.

Once again, don’t get me wrong.  My husband is particularly helpful around the home.  He’s my online technical support for all things computer and cell phone.  He does fixer-upper things that I simply can’t.  And if needed, he lends a hand with the kids.  If he’s available, he helps with lifting and carting of kids and he makes a mean roast leg of lamb or pork.  He’s really an awesome father.  Strict, yet loving.  Fair too.  And a wonderful husband to boot. 

Yet, there is clearly a difference between moms and dads.  And just to illustrate, I’ll give you an example.

We have our own little system of sorts for taking kids to school.  I do Mondays (recycling day at school, and Grant can’t bear the queues and increased traffic), Wednesdays and Fridays.  And Grant does Tuesdays and Thursdays.  But this is not set in stone.  Nor is it a rule.  It’s just kinda the way things have worked out and we’re sort of into the rhythm of doing things this way.  When Grant’s away on business, then I do it all, and occasionally he’ll do more, when his time allows it too.

And it stands to reason, that when you’re driving, you spend more time getting ready, and less time, setting the breakfast, lunch and dressing wheels in motion.  Still, whether I’m driving or not, my routine pretty much stays the same.  I tend to get up at 5h45 or 6h00 depending on if it’s a hair washing day or not (sad but true).  Quickly get dressed and get myself ready.  Wake kids up and start the first round of urging to get dressed.  Boil the kettle for coffee for breakfast rusks – the flavour of the moment.  Let the dogs out and feed them.  Make a never ending supply of sarmies and snacks for school – I’ve only got three kids, yet Luke is a bit of a bottomless pit and it takes rather a lot to fill him up.  While all of this is happening, I tend to dash down the passage once more, to check on the dressing and getting-ready progress.  Starting Cole’s engine in the morning is rather exhausting.  Dash back to the kitchen, make the coffee, take out the rusks and pour water for everyone.  Continue with the school lunches.  Kids start filtering through for breakfast and next up is a lengthy bickering session whilst eating.  “Your chair is too close to mine.”  “Hurry up, you’re going to make us late!”.  “Don’t bump me.”  This all from the kids, not me.  I tend to zone out and become deaf, because listening to them is too tiring.  Once the school lunches are done, I start on the morning smoothies – peeling an endless supply of oranges, naartjies, chopping up apples, etc.  Huge big glasses of fruit smoothies for the kids.  Followed by fruit and veggie smoothies for the adults – cucumbers, beetroot, carrots and lemon added to the fruit smoothies.  Delicious, yet time consuming.

And chances are, that if I walk down the passage during any part of this process, I’ll find my husband, completely oblivious, lying on the bed, watching breakfast TV.  Sometimes he comes through shortly before heading out the back door, to do Cole’s hair and to gulp his smoothie down.  Other times, he’ll waft through earlier and check the first of his many daily e-mails.  No concern about getting breakfast ready.  No concern about school lunches.  No concern about making smoothies.  It is after all not a part of his job description, and I do it so well…

Oh, but to be a husband.  In my next life…..

However, most days, there comes a point, when the kids have gone to school.  And the husband has gone to work.  And I get my chance.  So all is actually good and fair.  I have the benefit of working from home and therefore I can catch my breath once the dust has settled after the morning storm.  My husband and I both work equally hard.  We just have different schedules, different strengths and different bosses.

And because of that it’s all worthwhile. 

However, just to summarise – in my next life, I don’t just want to be a husband.

I want to be my husband. 

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