On the Tutoring Altar

It's important to recognize the value of personal sacrifice. Not so much for the opportunities to build character but more for the benefits of guilt-ridden sympathy from loved ones who feel indebted to you.

Recently, I started tutoring on Tuesday nights. The deal is I drive to my students' homes for one-hour sessions while Honk stays home to watch the kids. By the time I pull in the driveway, it's usually a quarter to ten. It's a LONG day. Feel bad for me? You're not alone. Honk is not crazy about this arrangement either. As I'm leaving, he shoves a consolatory cookie in my mouth and looks at me with "I'm-so-sorry" eyes, like I'm being deployed overseas or like he's been forced to sell me to a sheik who's coincidentally in the market for a smart-alecky wife with an aversion to cooking.

Later, when I return home and walk in the front door, Honk is there, the picture of husbandly love and support. But it's no wonder why. He is only responding to me, the picture of wifely drama and pity. I am the quintessential martyr. My shoulders are sagging, my head is hanging low and there might be some deep sighing going on as well. I collapse on the couch and repeatedly use the words "tired" and "exhausting" in every imaginable context. "Man, I'm tired of the elections, aren't you?" or "Campaigning must be exhausting for the candidates..." And most of the time, I'm not making any effort at subtlety.

But the truth is Tuesday night tutoring isn't all that bad. Yeah, I'm tired, but it does have its perks. On the way to and from my students' homes, I enjoy the rare opportunity of driving in an empty car that so far (fingers crossed!) hasn't tried to kick the back of my seat or ask me "Are we almost there yet?". I also get to listen to songs with lyrics that don't involve animals playing musical instruments or animals chasing eachother around mulberry bushes or animals who are blind with severed body parts. I go to nice homes in nice neighborhoods owned by nice families with nice kids. It's actually pretty... nice.

But I see no reason why I should publicize this information. Honk's giving me the royal treatment when I get home. And the fact that it's given out of guilt really doesn't make it any less enjoyable for me. I see no point in biting hands or looking in horses' mouths. Just take it where you can get it! Last week, I came home and discovered Honk had fluffed my pillows, folded back my blankets, and in lieu of a chocolate, left a note on my side of the bed that read,

Wifie,
Thanks for working so hard for us. We appreciate you.
Love, Honk

My husband arranged hotel turn-down service for me! How awesome is THAT!!! With this kind of sympathy, I'd be a fool to open my pie hole unless it's to reassure him that he and the kids are worth all the pain of my sacrifice. Besides, a little guilt never hurt anyone. At least, that's what Bubby, my mentor in martyrdom, used to say.