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It was our first date in months. Baby number three had left us so housebound that I felt like Howard Hughes … not like building airplanes Howard Hughes, but like the reclusive, feet-in-tissue-boxes Howard Hughes. Walking through the streets, I was like Ebenezer Scrooge from A Christmas Carol after he’s visited by the ghost of Christmas future—only to discover that the whole affair had been nothing but a dream.
“YOU, child?! What day is it?”
“… uh … sir, are you drunk?”
“TOP OF THE MORNING TO YOU MADAM!”
So with baby in tow, we left our older two, 14 and five, at home to visit a hopping new hotspot Downtown known to some as “le bureau de poste” … and known to others as the post office.
So it was, bubbling over with words I’d been keeping pent up for months, that I unleashed on the poor unsuspecting post office worker who made the unfortunate mistake of complimenting my (albeit very adorable) baby.
“Your first?”
“WELL ACTUALLY IT’S MY THIRD AND MY FIRST WAS BORN WHEN I WAS 21 AND WE THOUGHT SHE WAS GOING TO BE OUR ONLY BUT THEN WE DECIDED AFTER FINISHING GRADUATE SCHOOL WHEN SHE WAS EIGHT THAT WE DIDN’T WANT JUST ONE BUT WE WERE SURE WE WERE STOPPING AFTER TWO BUT THEN LO AND BEHOLD HE TURNED FIVE AND HERE WE ARE WITH BABY NUMBER THREE BUT IT HAS BEEN SO MUCH FUN!”
Trying to stop me would have been like trying to shove the wind back into a balloon. The bag had popped and the woman, God bless her, stood strong, smiling and nodding and pretending she got paid enough to listen to my bullshit.
And in a moment, she asked me a question that would stop me in my tracks. A question that got me reflecting not only on this monumental experience – but on my own unique perspective on this monumental experience. “Wow! Fourteen, five and a newborn? You all have been parenting for a long. Do you have any advice you give to your younger selves about parenting? Like what do you know now that you wished you’d known at 21?” Now, like all earth-shattering revelations in my life, I was a little late to the party and it wasn’t until years after that I would realize how important that question was—and how often I come back to it. So I think I said something hilariously obnoxious like, “have more money, amirite?!”
My response came in part from my feeling at the time was that I had been a better parent at 21 than I was as at 36. At 21, my life belonged to me. I laughed more. I played more. I had more fun and I ran better on less sleep. At 21 I didn’t worry about stains on my couch because literally lighting that ugly-ass couch on fire could not have made it any uglier or any less comfortable.
It was a time of my life when I didn’t work too much, I didn’t worry about a low status at work. I was supposed to be low on the mountain … because that’s where everyone starts. Now —at 36—I worried … about everything, it seemed. I worried I wouldn’t be able to manage my career with my family care responsibilities. I worried that working from home meant that it would be years before I’d be productive again. I worried that I was a better parent to two kids than I could be for three. I worried that my identity and individuality would be replaced with a cell phone clip, some jean shorts, and a pair of orthopedic sandals that I would wear with socks to keep the chill off my feet while I grilled hot-dogs except I would call them weenies, because that’s the kind of stupid joke you think is funny when you’re a dad. At 36, I worried that I should be more like I was at 21.
The funny truth is that despite being a bit of a hand-wringer, 36-year-old Jude could parent circles around 21-year-old me. Spending nearly 17 years watching personalities unfold, molding, challenging, communicating, and making space for my children’s newly-shaped and ever-shifting identities has left me wizened, more capable, and more patient—more aware of what I don’t know, and better at compensating for it. I cook better, I clean better, I manage chaos, set expectations, monitor grades online, print and sign permission slips, and drive kids all over the city—sometimes even managing to get them places on time. So while 21-year-old Jude might tell me to chill out—I’ve got some advice that I now see that 21-year-old Jude could learn from me. These are not all things I do, or have mastered. Rather, they are behaviors that characterized the good times—things I was doing in my marriage and in my parenting during times when I remember things going particularly well.
1. Make sure your partner has to ask you something about caring for your kids.
In my experience, caring for kids will always fall disproportionately on one partner or the other. Someone has to work, someone’s job pays less, and someone always has more flexibility. And during the times when the burden is falling disproportionately on your partner, it’s easy to lose touch with what is going on at home. A meaningful litmus test for how in touch I am with what’s going on at home is, “When is the last time I’ve had to remind my wife about something going on with the kids? An assignment? A food preference? A performance? Practice?” If the answer is, “…uh…what kids?”, it’s probably time for me to check back in, to give my wife a break, and to take charge of some of the mental work of parenting—the planning, coordination, or networking.
2. Wax your nose and ear hair.
Sex, and sexual interest will wax and wane in a marriage. But there’sno better way to say “I give up, let’s never have sex again” than to give up on hygiene. Because while some women like beards – and some like a clean shave; some like muscular men, and some like a little pudge. As God as my witness, there is literally no doubt in my mind that I will be cold and dead in the ground before I find a woman who finds ear and nose hair attractive. Seriously, wax.
3. Kiss her on the cheek.
4. There is enough appreciation to go around.
If there is one thing that gets my goat, it is when my wife spends the entire day at work, then comes home and tells me how tired she is. After all, she only had to deal with reasonable adults all day. I work from home, which means I had to cram work in what can only be described as a “work obstacle course”. And for those of you who don’t work from home, I can only liken it to working in an office – except you’re hog-tied, and someone lit your desk on fire, and then that same person is whining that they’re hot. TIRED!?! LADY, YOU DON’T KNOW THE MEANING OF THE WORD. But the truth is, in moments of lucidity, I can remember that it is possible that my wife is, indeed, tired. Her job can be difficult, stressful and thankless – and that saying she’s tired is not the same thing as saying she will not help me. Ultimately, tired is not a competition … which, you know, is lucky … for her.
5. No relationship talk on Friday night.
… or on trips … or during the holidays … and for at least a week before and a week after family visits. If I were to inventory every knock-down, drag-out, “online-looking-for-new-apartments” fight we’ve had as a couple, I’m guessing we’d see them spike around all of these events. Being tired makes you ugly … I mean not like ugly-ugly. I do still work out and trim my nose hair. But like, tired-ugly. Like when famous people cry in interviews. So more than “don’t go to bed angry”, my rule would be just don’t have the conversation. Yes, she said that in an irritated tone. Yes, this is your third trip to Taco Bell this week. Neither of those are divorce-worthy … and if they are, they will be tomorrow. So just put on Game of Thrones and save the conversation for another day.
6. Be interesting.
I started a campaign recently that I called my “be less boring” campaign. I felt that for the better part of two years following the birth of baby number three, I’d just become such a bore. I did nothing fun. I could only talk about kids and work, or occasionally work and kids. So in my effort to be less boring, I learned to roast my own coffee, I took up knitting again, I learned to make pâté, I started making bread and ice cream, and started training for a half-marathon. I’d read somewhere that people reported the most relationship satisfaction when they reported learning something from their partners … but ultimately, I just kind of got tired of living with myself.
7. Celebrate Valentine’s Day … and your anniversary.
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Photo: Getty Images