There Is No Title

On the train to Paris, I shared a carriage with a family. The father sat reading a book , making notes. The grandmother along with his wife struggled to keep the twin girls occupied and quiet. He interjected, trying to get his wife’s attention to share something from his book, but she was feeding one of the toddlers and kept getting distracted. Annoyed, he eventually gave up.

While the grandmother and mother each sat with a child in their laps, struggling to keep them happy. He continued to read silently.

The mother would intermittently ask him to get things from the luggage and he did it willingly and quickly continued reading.

I thought to myself how much less stressed might she be if her husband attempted to anticipate the needs of his children and simply addressed them without having to be directed.

My husband used to say, “she’s the boss” to people about me. It would bother me because I felt it was a cowardly way of making the rearing of the children and running of the household my sole responsibility.

When I told him that I’d rather have an equal partner, he became angry. “You dont appreciate me. You’re lucky to have me. I do the dishes for you, I do the laundry for you. ” he said. “I work a fulltime job.” I said.

Caring for a family, like any group project, requires collaboration, an intimate understanding of mutual goals, and the full cooperation and attention of all group members.

The father made another notation in his book. He once again attempted to get his wife’s attention , but she was busy wrangling one of their daughter’s out of a shirt covered in bolognese. He sighed, stood up and left for ten minutes returning from the dining car with an espresso.

As he sipped his espresso, his wife and mother in law scooped noodles from the toddlers’ laps, I wondered if when his girls are grown he’ll have an affair with a twenty year old and tell his wife that it was her fault for ignoring his needs too.