[Disclaimer: To avoid any confusion and misunderstanding, the piece below was actually written in its entirety by me, Tim Jones, not by my wonderful wife, Michele. Just in case you were curious. She is far too mature and too nice a person to have written such a silly piece.]
[Note from the staff at VFTB: Last week Tim Jones wrote a piece called “Wedding vows I don’t remember making.” This week, Tim’s wife Michele has requested equal time for a rebuttal. Tim is confident his wife’s piece was written with as much love and sensitivity as Tim displayed in his post.]
I read my husband Tim Jones’ post last week titled Wedding vows I don’t remember making. I love my husband very much, and when I say “love” I mean, I put up with him. Can I be honest? Being married to a humor writer is no picnic. It’s almost like living with an eleven year-old, except that I don’t want to belittle the maturity of any eleven year-olds out there.
I have so much to be thankful for, being married to you, my husband / man-child, these past 30 years. I want to thank you for:
… your never-ending concern that I might get over-heated on a winter’s night from having too many blankets covering me and your thoughtful habit of yanking all those blankets to your side of the bed in your “crocodile death roll” maneuver in your sleep.
… your willingness to educate me about defensive pass interference in football. Thank you for being so flexible about our television viewing options each evening too. You’re always so willing to let me choose, so long as it’s ESPN 1, ESPN 2, ESPN Classic, or whatever channel broadcasts the Lingerie Football League.
… your willingness to help around the house, by which I mean, emptying the waste baskets or the dishwasher with no more than seven reminders over a two-week period. By the way, not to belabor the point, but could you let me know when you plan to take down the Christmas tree that I put up last December?
… your fiscal discipline to avoid unnecessary impulse spending. Like the time recently that you had your heart set on that 75” flat panel TV the moment you saw it at Best Buy. Yes, I can see why you thought it would be perfect for your man cave. And kudos to you for showing self-control and settling for the 60” flat panel, much more reasonably priced at just $1,299.99. And thanks for consulting me on this one… Oh, wait, that’s right – you didn’t.
… for being such an involved dad when our kids were younger. You always shared in the parenting duties, like when you patiently waited until after I had finished changing their diapers to offer to go on a diaper – and junk food – run; or how you would suggest the best way for me to clean up the mess when the kids decided to paint our living room using Elmer’s glue, glitter and grape juice; or how you would swoop in just as I had scraped the last of the strained carrots from the VCR, to kindly offer to drive everyone to Dairy Queen.
… your relaxed approach to the concept of time. You never got stressed out worrying that you were an hour late arriving home – again – while our kids entered another stage five meltdown demanding that daddy get home NOW. You always let me stress out about this stuff instead. How thoughtful of you.
… your willingness to share in doing the yard work. Like the time last November, after I spent six hours raking, mulching, and cutting down tree limbs, the way you pitched in to help – just as soon as you saw that I had dragged the last of 400 pounds of leaves and branches to the curb. I know you could have done it all by yourself, honey, ‘cuz you’re so strong.
… your willingness to consider a wide variety of vacation destinations from Scottsdale to Tucson to Tempe to Sarasota to Clearwater to Fort Myers – anywhere in the world – just so long as it features baseball spring training. My idea of going to Provence, France, can wait until next year.
… the way you always entertained our kids – especially your creative but short-lived idea for All-U-Can-Eat-Candy-Fun-Time Saturdays. Like most things you do, I’m still not quite sure what you were thinking, but I know you were trying your best, despite your stunted judgment.
… your hilarious sense of humor which any nine-year old would appreciate. Of course if your joke was funny the first time I heard it back in 1987, it’s even more hilarious the 124th time, like at 6 a.m. this morning – when I was still trying to sleep. Never stop telling the same old jokes, honey. Perhaps someday you can start writing a funny humor blog. That would a totally new experience for you.
Don’t get me wrong. You are a great man, Tim. You’re a warm and loving husband and an incredible father to our kids. I think you’re the kindest, sweetest man in the world. I am so lucky to be married to you and I’m grateful for the gift of sharing our lives together.
In full disclosure, I just stepped away from the computer to answer the phone, and in that time, Tim jumped on the keyboard and wrote the previous paragraph. I swear I’m married to a five-year-old.
Thank you for letting me share just a few of the many things I’m grateful for about my life with you, Tim. I could go on for several more pages – effortlessly. But I have to finish grouting the shower because apparently you’re never going to get around to it.
Oh, one last thing: about your brilliant idea to buy a winter vacation home that we can’t afford. Thanks for asking me whether I would prefer one close to the Mariners’ spring training facilities or the Yankees’. That’s what I love about you, my darling husband. Always asking for my opinion – just so you can ignore my advice and go off and do your boneheaded scheme anyway.
I still love you, ya big lug, but for the 9,999th time, would it kill you for once in your life to leave the toilet seat down?
That’s the view from the bleachers. And no, I am not off base in the slightest.
– Tim’s wife, Michele
PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it a Like or sharing this post on Facebook. And while you’re at it, how much would you want for my husband? I will take $100 or Best Offer. Willing to throw in his golf clubs at no additional cost.
© Tim Jones, View from the Bleachers 2017
Did you get that tree down since the time of this writing ? Just wondering … lol
I guess this means you won’t be coming to the workshop on the dropped third strike rule?
Ummmmm…. Tim wrote this blog post, not me.
You should be glad that Tim is an eleven-year-old. Lynn insists that I am a three-year-old. I may be three, but you’d be hard-pressed to find another three-year-old that spent as many years in graduate school as I have. I would say more, but clearly that would be a mistake and not end well…