My husband Ben has been an absolutely amazing father to our children from the very beginning, which is amazing considering that his paternity was questioned in his first week of being a father.
A few days after her birth, our daughter Elizabeth was hospitalized to treat a moderate case of jaundice. As part of the testing, the doctors checked her blood type. A young and naive medical student was sent in to relay the information that Elizabeth’s blood type was O positive.
“But that can’t be!” Ben exclaimed. “Laura is O positive and I’m type AB!” The med student fumbled with his clipboard, avoided eye contact, and muttered something about checking with the lab.
When we got home from the hospital, Ben checked his Red Cross Blood Donor card and it said he was actually type A.
A few days later, we arrived at the doctor’s office for a follow-up visit. When it was our turn, the nurse whisked my husband away, telling him there was some unfinished paperwork to be taken care of. Once I got into the exam room with the baby, the doctor very gently stroked my back and said, “There’s been no mistake about the blood type. If there’s something you need to tell your husband, we can help you…”
The doctor’s earnest belief that I had an extramarital affair and my sheer exhaustion caused me to laugh hysterically.
We ended up moving out of town a few months later and have spared ourselves the embarrassment of having to face that doctor ever again, although we laugh thinking that the med student probably shares our scandalous story when exchanging tales of his first days on the job.
Despite being confused about his own blood type, Ben is really an intelligent and thoughtful man. He seems to know a little about everything, including the genetic intricacies of blood types. When the kids are sick, he explains the anatomy and decodes the doctor’s diagnosis. He always reads my articles and columns and has supportive and helpful suggestions every time. He completely gutted and renovated two homes, one of which we were living in at the time. And when something breaks, he can always fix it.
One very cold December night, we were driving home from doing some errands when we got a flat tire. Luckily, we managed to navigate the car into our own driveway and despite the fact that it was 20 degrees outside and past sunset, Ben set right to work changing the tire.
He came inside after a few minutes and told me that the light from the outside spotlight wasn’t enough to work by and asked if we had a flashlight. I searched all three junk drawers, the basement and the shed, and found nothing. Luckily our kids had joined the search and found their Little Tykes hippopotamus flashlight. Ben decided it would have to do.
Little did Ben realize when he headed out the door that some insightful (and probably wealthy) Little Tykes designer had configured this flashlight so that it only stayed on for about a minute, saving parents the expense of having to replace the batteries every night. The flashlight was also equipped with noises (what toy isn’t these days?), so every time you needed the light to come on again, you had to squeeze the handle and listen to the hippo laugh, “Uh huh huh, uh huh huh, uh huh huh huh huh.”
So there my husband was, lying on his back on the hard driveway in 20 degrees in the middle of December, trying to unscrew a rusted spare tire in the dark, and being taunted every 60 seconds by a blue plastic hippopotamus. Did he complain? Not really. Did he successfully change the tire? Of course.
Ben always seems to meet challenges like these with a sunny outlook, humor, and barely any complaint. He teaches seventh grade students all day long but never balks at taking on extra work during weekends and holidays to supplement our income. In the evening, he coaches the soccer team, helps with homework, takes the kids to doctor’s appointments, and oversees bedtime while I’m at work.
Do you remember that old 1980’s movie “Mr. Mom?” Michael Keaton starred as a stay-at-home dad who wrestled the vacuum cleaner, barely knew how to put on a diaper, and just doesn’t have a clue. While that movie is good for a laugh, my husband is not that Mr. Mom, and our children are much better for it.
Ben isn’t perfect. He tells me repeatedly that he doesn’t do dishes. He has a tendency to save every scrap of paper that crosses his desk. He likes to procrastinate lesson planning until the last possible moment, when he often enlists the help of the rest of the family. And the other day, Ben said he couldn’t remember when Mother’s Day is.
It really doesn’t matter to me if he forgets Mother’s Day. This year, I’m going to combine Mother’s Day with Father’s Day into one celebration of the devotion that we both have to our family, because I know I wouldn’t be half as successful at being a mother if it wasn’t for Ben’s love and support.
A few days after her birth, our daughter Elizabeth was hospitalized to treat a moderate case of jaundice. As part of the testing, the doctors checked her blood type. A young and naive medical student was sent in to relay the information that Elizabeth’s blood type was O positive.
“But that can’t be!” Ben exclaimed. “Laura is O positive and I’m type AB!” The med student fumbled with his clipboard, avoided eye contact, and muttered something about checking with the lab.
When we got home from the hospital, Ben checked his Red Cross Blood Donor card and it said he was actually type A.
A few days later, we arrived at the doctor’s office for a follow-up visit. When it was our turn, the nurse whisked my husband away, telling him there was some unfinished paperwork to be taken care of. Once I got into the exam room with the baby, the doctor very gently stroked my back and said, “There’s been no mistake about the blood type. If there’s something you need to tell your husband, we can help you…”
The doctor’s earnest belief that I had an extramarital affair and my sheer exhaustion caused me to laugh hysterically.
We ended up moving out of town a few months later and have spared ourselves the embarrassment of having to face that doctor ever again, although we laugh thinking that the med student probably shares our scandalous story when exchanging tales of his first days on the job.
Despite being confused about his own blood type, Ben is really an intelligent and thoughtful man. He seems to know a little about everything, including the genetic intricacies of blood types. When the kids are sick, he explains the anatomy and decodes the doctor’s diagnosis. He always reads my articles and columns and has supportive and helpful suggestions every time. He completely gutted and renovated two homes, one of which we were living in at the time. And when something breaks, he can always fix it.
One very cold December night, we were driving home from doing some errands when we got a flat tire. Luckily, we managed to navigate the car into our own driveway and despite the fact that it was 20 degrees outside and past sunset, Ben set right to work changing the tire.
He came inside after a few minutes and told me that the light from the outside spotlight wasn’t enough to work by and asked if we had a flashlight. I searched all three junk drawers, the basement and the shed, and found nothing. Luckily our kids had joined the search and found their Little Tykes hippopotamus flashlight. Ben decided it would have to do.
Little did Ben realize when he headed out the door that some insightful (and probably wealthy) Little Tykes designer had configured this flashlight so that it only stayed on for about a minute, saving parents the expense of having to replace the batteries every night. The flashlight was also equipped with noises (what toy isn’t these days?), so every time you needed the light to come on again, you had to squeeze the handle and listen to the hippo laugh, “Uh huh huh, uh huh huh, uh huh huh huh huh.”
So there my husband was, lying on his back on the hard driveway in 20 degrees in the middle of December, trying to unscrew a rusted spare tire in the dark, and being taunted every 60 seconds by a blue plastic hippopotamus. Did he complain? Not really. Did he successfully change the tire? Of course.
Ben always seems to meet challenges like these with a sunny outlook, humor, and barely any complaint. He teaches seventh grade students all day long but never balks at taking on extra work during weekends and holidays to supplement our income. In the evening, he coaches the soccer team, helps with homework, takes the kids to doctor’s appointments, and oversees bedtime while I’m at work.
Do you remember that old 1980’s movie “Mr. Mom?” Michael Keaton starred as a stay-at-home dad who wrestled the vacuum cleaner, barely knew how to put on a diaper, and just doesn’t have a clue. While that movie is good for a laugh, my husband is not that Mr. Mom, and our children are much better for it.
Ben isn’t perfect. He tells me repeatedly that he doesn’t do dishes. He has a tendency to save every scrap of paper that crosses his desk. He likes to procrastinate lesson planning until the last possible moment, when he often enlists the help of the rest of the family. And the other day, Ben said he couldn’t remember when Mother’s Day is.
It really doesn’t matter to me if he forgets Mother’s Day. This year, I’m going to combine Mother’s Day with Father’s Day into one celebration of the devotion that we both have to our family, because I know I wouldn’t be half as successful at being a mother if it wasn’t for Ben’s love and support.
Very sweet.
ReplyDeleteSo true!
ReplyDelete