Having already raised two children to adulthood, I know what’s coming in the next couple of years, and I’m not looking forward to it.
Only it’s probably not what you think. It’s not, for example, hormones or teen sassiness and arguments.
At the moment we can put the kids to bed and finally enjoy each other’s company with a minimum of distractions. We can chat about current affairs, for example (we don’t), or talk about our days (rarely), and share any gossip (sometimes). And we can flirt (there you go).
Like tonight. All the kids are in bed so a cheek-faced Tracey steps out of the bathroom, opens her towel, and jiggles for me.
I applauded appreciatively and enthusiastically, then gave her the old Buddy Christ thumbs up, after which she closed her towel and disappeared with that distinctive and intoxicating air of ‘maybe later if you’re a good boy’.
Which reminded me of something I hadn’t told her yet…
“I did that today,” I called out.
Suddenly, she was back. Only this time her face had a worrying and concerned look. I get that a lot.
“What?” she asked me.
“I did that thing today,” I repeated. “I was interviewed for the Gympie Times about leaving the bank to become a full time stay at home dad and blogger, and I did that.”
Her face didn’t alter its expression a single worried crease.
“And you did this,” she said, magnificently opening her towel and jiggling for a second time, “for the camera? Are you hoping for page three?”
If this is my reward for getting things wrong, I don’t ever wanna be right. But I thought I’d best explain myself.
“Not that,” I said. I re-assumed the position: pointing with one hand and thumbs up with the other. “That.”
Now sadly, when the kids grow up a little more and we’ve got teenagers staying up later than us, all these wonderful exchanges and misunderstandings will come to an end.
And they do. Bloody kids.
I can’t speak for women, but it’s no wonder when they’re young adults us men become so keen for them, despite years of never wanting them to leave our side, to move out on their own. We want you, the lovely woman in our lives, to have the freedom to jiggle at us anytime the mood or miscommunication takes you.
That’s my self-serving, perker-led theory anyway.
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~ raising a family on little more than laughs ~