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Published on: 2016-04-28 11:00:00
I’m Hubby. The one my wife refers to when writing her blog and I thought it might be good to hear my voice for a change. I work full time, Mrs Hubby works part time and she is the primary care giver although we are both active in our foster caring roles. I try not to spend most of my time with J but it’s easy to slip into this role as he’s a boy who likes football and sports in general. M tends to gravitate to Mrs Hubby with her questions or worries about her boyfriend, shopping wants and general dramas on social media. I get my quality M time when I provide my endless taxi service to or from a train station or friend’s house and enjoy her chatter about what Claire is doing or ‘Oh My God did you see Kim Kardashian last night?’ Mrs Hubby’s Zumba nights are my cooking nights when both kids keep a respectful distance from the kitchen as anything could happen. They don’t look forward to my night of cooking and I can’t blame them; it’s sometimes burnt or unidentifiable. J once said when I presented him with pasta which had turned purple from an ill-advised additional of beetroot ‘this is alien slug eggs and I’m not eating it!’ Kids are such harsh judges!
So you can image J’s concern at being told he had my cooking for the weekend as Mrs Hubby was going away with M on a girlie shopping and spa trip. He was thrilled that he could use his console without sharing game time with M and he wasn’t going to be nagged about having a bath. It did dawn on him though that he would have to eat my cooking. Mrs Hubby thought of everything before she went and left notes and charts around for J’s weekend sports routine and what equipment he needed. She also filled the fridge with easy to cook fresh food and a few snacks and left lists and recipes; all easy to follow… so she said.
Mrs Hubby and M left around 6pm on Friday for their spa trip, with M virtually vibrating with excitement at which treatments she would have and what she would buy with her saved money. In the meantime, J was looking at me expectantly for dinner. I glanced in the fridge and back at J who was looking wary and took pity on him and suggested a takeaway as a treat. J was ecstatic as Mrs Hubby limits the amount of fast food they eat and it’s an occasional treat. Unfortunately, this paved the way for a weekend of rubbish food, untidiness and general male slobbery. I knew I was being a cliché and each time I ordered pizza or we had slipped into a fast food restaurant I would lecture J about the importance of eating a balanced diet and this was the last time we were eating out or getting a takeaway. He would nod wisely and agree with me. As the pizza was delivered we put the Lego movie on again and tucked into our dinner. I even left the washing up soaking in the sink which is against Mrs Hubby’s rules.
By Sunday morning I was feeling guilty about the food in the fridge and decided to cook us Sunday lunch. M and Mrs Hubby were due back at 4pm so I planned a roast dinner which is within my repertoire. After J’s football match in the cold, we stopped off at Starbucks for our usual Sunday treat. I insisted he jump in the bath when we got back which he was surprised at and said he didn’t think he’d have to as Mrs Hubby was away. I realised I needed to keep more to the routine my wife had set and after a little resistance he came out clean and got on with homework.
I had a tidy up and just as I was about to start dinner, they turned up an hour earlier than planned. M and Mrs Hubby were full of their weekend and J was delighted with his gifts from my wife. M even had a few words for him before making a beeline for her room and laptop. She was already on the phone texting as she went upstairs. It was great having Mrs Hubby back and I suggested we go out for Sunday lunch as a treat so we could all catch up about our weekend and she jumped at the chance after her busy trip.
As I piled them into the car, J at least had the decency to look guilty when Mrs Hubby said it would be lovely for him after eating my food all weekend. I had put the pizza and takeaway boxes in recycling and put some of the fresh food in the freezer but Mrs Hubby is too clever. As we were going into bed that night, she asked J if he enjoyed all the takeaways and fast food and I looked guilty. Mrs Hubby is understanding, she said it would have been a great bonding time for J and a treat to have me to himself. We did bond; we laughed at silly stuff on television, watched boy centric films and basically slobbed around for the weekend. What better way to bond with a 9 year old boy? Mrs Hubby is back in charge and we ate freshly cooked food which I’m convinced J has a bit more appreciation for.