Perfectly Imperfect

Awww....

I'm not too sure my husband would think of saying anything like that to me. His brain is made up of work, tennis, football, work, work, expenses, work, career (there's a difference) and family. He knows I'm here today. He knows I'll be here tomorrow. He told me he loved me by marrying me. He's not that romantic. No. But he's pretty bloody awesome despite the lack of romance and I love him.

Tim is far far far from perfect. Faaaarrrrrrrr from perfect. He snores. Fuck me does he snore. He snores so bad that we can't share a room, and some nights I really don't want to share the same house. He makes smells as regularly as clockwork. He leaves for work by 6am and comes home anywhere between 7pm and 8pm. He sometimes comes home a grumpy sonofabitch, growls at the kids, eats, gets into his Homer Simpson-esque groove on the couch, surfs the channels, settling on the same ol' same ol' of tennis or AFL replays, and falls asleep. Rarely do we have a conversation in the evenings. There is one recurring chitchat - my excessive use of Facebook & blogging. So there you have it. The longest bloody excuse of why you haven't been reading many blogs of mine lately. I've been trying to spend some time with him, next to him, on the couch while he snores.

Like I said, he works too bloody long, but it really could be worse. He is one of the few solicitors who actually goes home before the morning sun rises to start another asshat of a day. He always goes in to check on the kids - all five of them, including the smelly one - before he curls up on the couch for a broken sleep of 6 hours. If he's lucky.

Some days, I resent him. Some days I hate him. Some days I wonder why the hell I'm still here. I'm jealous that he gets to go away from this shitsville of ours for 7 hours a day and sometimes more. I see how far far far from perfect he is. And it irritates me and grinds on me and makes me feel all stabby. And then I realise this...

I am far far far far from perfect. Faaaarrrrrr from perfect.

And in Tim's imperfection, I see just how perfect he is. Awww. 

So, as it is Father's Day here in Australia, I want to share my appreciation of the father of my five ferals.

Tim, you get up at stupid o'clock to get on a train that takes you to work with other overtired, hard working city people an hour away. You sit in an office dealing with idiots-with-money and idiots-with-power and thank Jebus for the couple of friends there that make the day tolerable. You eat lunch at your desk. If you're lucky, you might go for a walk around the block. You get on a crowded train packed with overtired, irritable hard working city people, and travel the hour back home while standing beneath the underdeodorised armpits of death.

You walk in the door to an explosion of filth, toys, tears, screams and profanity, and a dinner that is cold. I tell you how fucked up my day was with those shits of kids of ours. You see bills, school fundraising requests, excursions to be paid, more bills, appointments, things that need fixing, things that need replacing and things that we bought with the dollars you earn. Syphoned of energy and money, you play with Baby Scarlett for a few minutes, ask the big kids about their day, read a story or sing a song to the Wondertwins, feed the cats and dog, and fall asleep on the couch. On Saturdays, you play tennis all afternoon, come home and sleep in front of the tennis, AFL replays or music videos of the 80s. There you will snore and snore loudly. And because you don't want to keep me, or Scarlett, awake you don't sleep in our room. It's been two years on the couch. Happy anniversary for that, by the way.

Without you doing this day in and day out, we would not have this house. We would not have the cars. We would not have food on the table or the clothes that we wear. We would not have the little luxuries that keep all of us entertained. We would not have me staying at home raising our five kids. Five kids. Five. At home. Dammit.

You have seen me at my worst. You've seen me cry in pain and cry in anguish. Seen me deteriorate mentally. Seen me taken to hospital too many times. Seen me double in size. And yet here you are.

Today, on Father's Day, you spent time with your kids, and you wanted to. You gave me a break. I'm not complaining...    

               

You are so far from perfect, Tim. We're a match made in heaven.





By the way...
I'm in the Circle of Moms 'Top 25 Australian Moms' blogger contest. If you like what I write in my blog, and you'd like to help an Aussie chick out, click on this linky Top 25 Australian Moms and click on vote! Simples! 
You'll find lots of other awesome blogs there, too.