Belle Meade Man Comes to Wife’s Rescue

I know you’re expecting another article full of wit and wisdom from everyone’s favorite working mom but, unfortunately, this month, you’re going to have suffer with me, her husband.

You see, typically, Lisa schedules her annual mental and emotional freakout for the fifth Thursday of each November. Based on everything she’s had going on, however, we’ve decided, as a family, to move it up to this week.

Here’s the reason: All the clients Lisa handles for our business are so thrilled with her that they’ve tripled her workload. Of course, given the economy, they’ve also halved her budgets.

Additionally, my amazing and overachieving teenage children have involved themselves with every possible extracurricular activity they could think of, with the notable exception of driving. That means they all need rides – to everywhere and at the same time. And me? Well, I’ve been traveling for work seven out of the past 10 weeks.

That leaves Lisa to be the CEO of the company, fill the role of both parents in the house, and act as the head chef and Uber driver for our three freeloading (I kid) beautiful teenagers.

When she said to me the other night, “I really want to write my November article, but I just can’t find the time,” I knew exactly what to do.

“I’ll write it for you sweetheart,” I said lovingly. “It’s the least I could do to help you out.”

Now, I know what you’re thinking. “I want to hear from Lisa. I don’t care what Lisa’s husband has to say.”

Fear not, dear reader. I have a plan.

Back in 1994, within the first week after Lisa and I were married, we faced a very similar dilemma. I came home one evening to find her sitting on the couch, covered in piles of laundry, sobbing.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” I asked.

“I just don’t have time to do everything,” she said. “I wanted the laundry to be done and dinner to be made and the house to be cleaned, but I got home from work late and just couldn’t.”

“Why would you expect all that to be your job?” I asked. “That’s just crazy! We’re a team. You need to let me do some of that.”

After some deep breaths and a good conversation, we decided that I would take care of the laundry and the cooking, and she would take care of the cleaning.

The next night I came home, I threw a load of laundry in the washer then made a huge pasta dinner with meatballs and sausage. Lisa came home and we both had a glass of wine and caught up.

As the sauce simmered, I moved the laundry to the dryer. Then we sat down for a homemade Italian feast. While I did make big mess out of the kitchen – and dirtied virtually every dish in the house – the meal was spectacular.

While Lisa started washing dishes, I folded the clothes in the other room.

Sure, it took her a bit longer than expected to clean up after dinner, but by the time she’d put last dish in the cupboard, I had all the laundry folded and set in neat little piles ready to be put away.

“What on earth,” she exclaimed as she walked into the room. “What have you done?”

She then explained that my laundry folding skills were sorely lacking. She refolded everything while questioning why I would wash brights with darks. She also discovered that I’m the kind of idiot who does whites in cold water. It was clear that someone like me could not be trusted with laundry.

“And by the way,” she went on, “you absolutely are not cooking tomorrow. I can’t spend all that time cleaning up after one of your family recipes blows up my kitchen.”

I humbly offered to do the cleaning but, as you know, Lisa is a very smart woman. She knew I’d screw that up, too.

“No way,” she scolded, “I can’t risk giving a guest a glass you didn’t wash very well, or a dish you didn’t check after it came out of the dishwasher.”

My plan of being a good teammate and helper lasted all of one day. I was once again relegated to working late hours, making sure the bills were paid and doing all the handyman stuff that ensured the house and cars were well maintained.

And by this point in the article, it should be evident to you that, not only am I completely full of it, I’ll also never, ever be allowed to write another one of these columns for my wife again.

Mission accomplished!

Remember to look for more pearls of wisdom from the smartest, most beautiful, hardest-working mom in town next month in this same space.

You’re welcome.

Thom Mozloom is founder of The M Network, a father of three, a die-hard and unapologetic Yankees fan, and a husband of 28 years to his wife, Lisa.