He Said...

Hello, there. Welcome to How to Raise a Husband. I mention the title because I want you to be sure I know what it is. You see, I am the husband. My beautiful bride may have written this tome, but I, in my infinite humble objectivity, plainly see that How to Raise a Husband  exists only because of me.

It’s not that I was a terrible, untamed person or some socially inept hermit, capable of communicating by only uttering favorite lines from Star Wars. (No, not at all—I also used lines from Star TREK.) You see, I was a very capable, intelligent, reasonably grounded, moral, happy, successful guy who had been through things and learned from them.

I didn’t think I was any more in need of “raising” than any of us. I have found, though, as with any good, purposeful relationship, that I became a better me through knowing my wife, and she recognized that.

My smart wife has a knack for reading people. She naturally looks at what makes people tick, and she has the talent for clearly seeing what helps people—and what’s not working for someone, too. and, probably most important and most remarkable, when she sees that, rather than instantly pointing it out like some dogmatic life coach, she stands back, intuiting that people really only learn when they see it for themselves.

I made some poor choices earlier in our relationship. She could see it as it was happening, yet she didn’t say so. She patiently looked on, watching me with love and understanding, waiting to see if I would clue in or not. (Luckily, I did.) If she had been there saying it all along, trying to teach me or fix me, it would have pushed me away.

I know myself enough to know I would have told her (and myself) that she was way too controlling and really didn’t know anything about the perfectly excellent and awesome person I obviously was . . . and then gone on making the same mistakes. But, thankfully, she didn’t do that. She just genuinely gets that while she understands what someone might be doing to get in the way of his or her happiness, it’s not her place to say so.

So she’s more surprised than anyone to find herself writing this book. Telling people how to live is simply not in her nature. Being of service is in her nature, though. So, once the ideas started to flow, she followed where they led.

So, I just wanted you to know that I, the titular Husband, know what she’s been up to with this book. And, I’m deeply thankful for it. My relationship with this woman has helped “raise” me to find the truth in myself and in us.

I can say that when I look at the truth, when I strip away the filters of expectation, judgment, and ego and really look, I see my wife, and she’s the most beautiful thing I’ll ever see. As I said at our wedding, my bride helped me see my true self. And when I did, I saw that what I am is love for her.

My wife knows that feeling and would love it if you did, too.

— Michael, Tonilyn’s husband

And She Said...

My husband is right. (Don’t tell him I said that.) He is the reason this book exists. He alone is responsible for my being able to write a whole tome about marriage, husbands, and wives, instead of writing about my love for cows that make TV commercials, but truthfully, he was not my inspiration. That honor falls to another woman . . . and a chicken club sandwich.

“I asked him to watch her for two seconds and guess what?” my girlfriend asked as I scarfed down my lunch, “I came back and he was watching TV, and she was trying to crawl off  the couch! She could have fallen and really hurt herself!”  She was right.

Later that afternoon, while wondering how to make the tangy spread on that chicken sandwich, I replayed my friend’s conversation in my head. How could her husband not know that he needed to actually watch his twelve-month-old and not the latest episode of Homeland?

And that’s when it hit me—they use Caesar salad dressing on their sandwich! Okay but right after that—not only did my dear friend have a child to raise, but she had a husband to raise as well.

I started thinking, “do all wives feel like they are raising their husbands? Wow. Someone should write a book about that.” And I promptly went on dreaming about drowning my next chicken sandwich in Caesar salad dressing.

Weeks later the title How to Raise a Husband  popped into my head, and it occurred to me that, as a wife and a writer, I  could write a book about wives and husbands. (Admittedly, I can be a little slow sometimes. like the time when I thought Alaska was an island. Seriously, it’s a simple mistake to make! I mean, it’s always floating in the water next to Hawaii on the map.)

Impromptu Wife Poll

Since I didn’t have the resources, knowledge, or enough ball-point pens to take a nationwide poll, I asked wives I knew if they felt like they had ever “raised” their husbands during their marriage. Each and every one answered a resounding, “yes.” So it turns out we wives and husbands are not alone in this marriage thing.

This book does not make a mockery of men or marriage. (Perhaps a little light poking fun at, but not a full-on poke. Those hurt.) This is not a book about stupid husbands and smart wives. This is (mostly) not a book about incapable husbands unable to find the ketchup on the second shelf of the refrigerator hidden behind the eggs. This is definitely not a book about cows and TV commercials.

This is a book about real relationships and real couples trying their best to stay grounded and loving.

Because let’s face it . . .

We all need to be raised up now and then.

And sometimes we need to be shown where the ketchup bottle has been hiding

Why Don’t You Come When I Call?

I hear the question in my head daily, but I can’t seem to make my mouth form the words. Why don’t you come when I call? It seems more like a question for my dog. This would be why I haven’t asked him—my husband, not my dog. I know why my dog doesn’t come when I call him—I’m not made of Milk-Bones. I don’t know why my husband won’t come—but I’m afraid to ask and I’m afraid of his answer.

When Michael calls for me, I answer. I stop whatever it is that I’m doing because he is more important than my Project Runway watching and more important than Oreo eating—barely. I want him to know this. I want him to know that I’m there when he needs me—even if it’s only to approve his t-shirt choice for the day.

I come when he calls. Whey doesn’t he come when I call?

“HEY, Michael!”

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten...

Nothing.

Walking down the hall in search of him signals my defeat. I trudge down the corridor tying to hide my disappointment.

I am chasing him.

I want to be chased.

Hello! Anybody home?

Michael forgets to talk to me. Well, really it’s not that he forgets to talk to me—it’s that he forgets to listen to me. He forgets to ask about my day. He forgets to ask my opinion. He forgets. Enough that I notice. And that’s when the yelling down the hall starts.

I’m calling so that I can share my day, or the random thought I had, or how I dreamt about Chewbacca speaking German again.

I dream of a world where Michael hangs on my every word. (Or at least ten out of every 12,564 of them.)

“How come you never come when I call?” I practiced on my dog and finally got the nerve to say it to him.

“How come you never come when I call?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, how come when I yell your name, so I can tell you something exciting and interesting, you don’t respond?”

“I’m doing stuff,” he answered while still staring at the computer screen. “I can’t break my concentration like that. I have to get to a stopping point...” His voice trailed off...

A stopping point? Isn’t a stopping point a stopping point? His stopping point always seems to be sometime next week. But now since we’ve touched on the subject maybe he’ll make more of an effort to answer.

“Michael!”

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten...

Or not.

A New Plan of Approach

Are my conversational skills that mundane? I try to introduce subjects that interest both of us. Appealing subjects like why The Empire Strikes Back is the best of the original trilogy or boobs. I love Star Wars, and I have boobs. I can’t think of a more winning combination than that for a guy.

Like a clever Victorian hostess, I add these subjects on at the end of my monologue about why I cried in traffic yesterday and why the lady who yelled at her dogs in the park made me so mad.

My choice of closing topics ends our conversation with a brilliant discussion that leaves us laughing. I feel valued. I always leave my audience wanting more. So, why then won’t he come when I call?

Ah.

I see my mistake.

“Michael! The Empire Strikes Back is on...”

It would seem that my husband responds best to certain specific stimuli.

“Did you call me?”

“Yeah. But before we watch, let me tell you about the crazy dream I had last night...”

©2014 by Tonilyn Hornung. All rights reserved.
Reprinted with permission of the publisher, Conari Press,
an imprint of Red Wheel/Weiser, LLC. www.redwheelweiser.com.  

Article Source:

How to Raise a Husband: A Whole Bunch of Ways to Build a Strong and Happy Marriage
by Tonilyn Hornung.

Click here for more info and/or to order this book.

About the Author

Tonilyn Hornung is one of Skirt! magazine's most popular bloggers; she also blogs for Pregnancy and Newborn magazine. She graduated with a BFA in Musical Theater from Boston Conservatory and has performed professionally around the country. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband, new baby, three pets, and never enough closet space. Visit her online at www.TonilynHornung.com.