The Good Wife's Guide....Again

Originally posted on the blog in 2006, and the most searched for and viewed posting in the archives. I give you...my version of The Good Wife's Guide. Just in time for the holidays.

Someone sent me this Good Wife's Guide, originally published in 1955. I ask you, what wife doesn't need a handy dandy guide to know just how to succeed in her role? Isn't it enough that advertising and publishing tell us what to wear, how to pluck, preen and clean, how to improve our sex lives, our financial future and the appearance of our skin, hair and teeth? I was so inspired by this guide to being a Good Wife, which of course I aspire to, that I updated it for our times. To really understand how thoughtful my update is, please read the 1955 version first.

The 2010 Good Wife's Guide

Have dinner ready.

Call your husband on his way home from work, and tell him in specific detail what you’d like him to pick up, and it better be hot, DAMNIT. If your husband is like many others and needs a list for three items or more, write up your dinner request on a post it note the night before. Place the post it note on his steering wheel and repeat on the dash, in his daytimer, on his cell phone, his underwear, wallet and the inside both of his shoes. Unless he shows up naked and on foot, he has a pretty good shot of actually bringing home 50% of what you asked for and some disgusting fruit pie that was on sale and next to the register.

Prepare yourself.

If you’re looking bedraggled from your commute home or from a long day of wrestling short people into clothes, naps and behaving well, so be it. Less chance he’ll hit you up for sex in the first five minutes. If you’re looking particularly hot from a client meeting or a ladies-who-lunch day, immediately change into sweats, preferably his. Top it off with a ripped sweatshirt to ensure a good night’s sleep.

Be a little gay.

Not too gay, because men LOVE that girl-on-girl action and might get enthusiastic. Try just being just “I wear sensible shoes and fleece” gay, not San Francisco “I wear great shoes and glasses and designer clothing” gay.

Clear away the clutter.

Gather all the newspapers he’s left strewn about, last night’s beer can and perhaps some stale snack food found on the floor and put them in his favorite chair so he can be a dear and clean it up when he tries to sit down. Gather up school books, toys etc and throw them into the kids’ beds so they can be a dear and clean up before bed.

In the cooler months of the year, light a fire to provide a pleasant environment.

The fire needn’t be made of traditional kindling and wood, but can be comprised of all the smelly socks, sports jerseys made for young and lithe bodies no longer found in your house, and ripped underwear that you can’t bear to see one more time. If you use lighter fluid or kerosene (highly recommended for the greatest burn possible) be sure to open the damper. No need to knock anyone unconscious so early in the evening.

Prepare the children.

Let them know their father will be physically present but may not be engaged, and to just write down all of the little slights so they have a better record for their future therapists.

Be happy to see him.

Or at least the hot meal he better be carrying.

Greet him...

with the recycling or garbage that needs to go out. Lord knows that once he steps foot inside the door it’s a lost cause.

Listen to him.

This is a tough assignment, but practice listening in front of the mirror. Many people think that listening is done with the ears, but no, it’s all about facial expression. If possible, draw eyebrows slightly higher on your forehead so you also appear to be interested.

Make the evening his.

Turn on a game, SportsCenter or a Victoria’s Secret infomercial. He will enjoy himself while you have the bubble bath you so richly deserve. Be sure to lock the door to keep those pesky kids out, and immerse your whole head to block out any annoying screams.

Your goal: make it through the day without anyone dying and you’ve done your job. Pat yourself on the back on the way to the bubble bath.

Don’t greet him with complaints and problems.

See note above about garbage or recycling greeting.

Don’t complain if he’s late for dinner.

Call for delivery and enjoy the free dessert all by yourself.

Arrange his pillow.

If he is uncomfortable, he can put the pillow BEHIND his head all by himself.

Don’t ask him questions.

That will just start needless conversation that stands between you and your bubble bath.

A good wife always knows her place.

In the tub, with a glass of wine in one hand and People in the other. A pop-culturally literate and sweet smelling, albeit slightly tipsy wife is a happy wife. And one most likely to get up and do it all again tomorrow.

Missing out

My brother was picked on. Chased. Beaten up. Humiliated. And otherwise made to feel less than, different and like someone who was not worthy of a happy life. And in the end, he had just what his tormentors wanted - a tragic end witnessed by no one.

As we watch our "it gets better" videos and read the heartfelt pleas for better education of and instilling of morality in our youth, I am reminded of a day in sixth grade when such morality was not to be found. I watched my brother being chased down a hill by the school's toughest kid, with at least 50 kids running behind him, ready for the show. He was chased all the way down Aviary Road to the park at the bottom, where he was finally caught and thrown to the hard winter ground. The crowd began to shout "FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!" as the bully - easily twice the size of my brother - wrestled him and began punching his head. He fought back, but was helpless in that boy's grip — unable to stop the blows that came one after another. I was breathless and unable to even scream — at the memory of this, I feel that same nausea and fear taking over my body. I ran to a neighbor's house to plead with them to call for help, pleading in a choked voice for someone to call my mother, call the police, call someone....just please, please...leave my brother alone. That was to be my rally cry for the rest of his life, though often it was he that needed to stop hurting himself.

That scene was to be repeated many times in my brother's life. He wasn't gay or assumed to be gay, not that would have changed anything or made the bullying any more acceptable or expected. Still, ugly homophobic epithets were hurled at him like sharp stones everyday. Faggot. Queer. Shithead homo. Anything that could bruise a young boy's soul and leave him crippled for life. To this day, I have no idea how anyone sensed that he was different or worthy of this cruel attention. He was a little hyperactive, a little brilliant, very creative and — after moving 10 times before fifth grade — a little standoffish. That was it. No visible signs of "difference" or "kick me". Just some unseen invitation that only the cruelest could read and reply to.

As I watch my son grow up, his joy and love and kindness so visible to all, I wonder at what it was like for my mother to see her son so beaten in all ways. What it was like to see his same joy and love leave his eyes and heart and leave only a kid who started drinking at 14 to tamp down the pain. What could she have done, should she have done, was there anything at all...and I wonder if she too asks herself the same question.

I think of all the mothers of children who are victimized by bullying in this country — a recent article noted that over 160,000 kids stay home from school just to avoid the pain of bullying. I think of the principals who care and those who can't be bothered, of the adults who do step in and those who allow their own issues to step in the way of doing what's right and good. Of the people from all walks of life who have posted their own "it gets better" video, and of those kids who may — just maybe — have just a little more hope because an adult who had lived through their pain and acknowledged that it's more than just a bad day can tell them that yes, it does get better. And you need to be here to see that.

My brother died nine years ago, a long-delayed victim of bullying. He finally believed that his life would get better and in fact was getting better, but for him it was too late.  The taunts and punches had started a cycle of lifelong destructive behavior that stopped only two years before his death but waited in the wings to claim him.

As you sit down to dinner tonight with your children, look at their joy. Their openness. The way they shine. Think about what you are doing to keep that light going — teaching them what it means to be compassionate. To have integrity. What it means to be accountable in this world. What it means to know yourself and how valuable you are to not only your family but to the world. These aren't traits or values that just happen; we need to be as diligent about guiding and showing them each and every day as we are about teaching them to do addition or floss their teeth well. And if we are able to do that, to help them become people who are compassionate, accountable and confident in their value— then we can all believe that yes, yes indeed. It does get better...for everyone.


If you enjoy this blog, please feel free to vote for me on Babble; I'm currently in the top 50.