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Logan attended a seminar recently where he learned all about ways to be an effective small business owner. He returned home with a spring in his step and his head full of ideas for his dental practice.
“One of the speakers suggested that a small business owner could benefit from having a personal assistant,” he said as we were talking the next day. “He said that it could maximize my productivity exponentially.”
I looked at him blankly.
“All you have are personal assistants,” I replied, simultaneously folding a load of laundry while splicing together a broken plastic light saber with duct tape. He looked confused, so I explained.
“At work, you are surrounded by dental assistants who hand you the exact tool you need at the exact moment you need it,” I said. “You have office managers who hire people and organize your Christmas parties and make sure the water bill gets paid. For your responsibilities at church, you have a secretary who sets up your appointments and even sends out reminders the day-of to make sure you don’t forget.”
“Yeah, but—“, he attempted to cut in, but my voice only rose higher.
“And then you’ve got me,” I continued. “I schedule all our family social gatherings, buy the gifts for birthdays and holidays, and make sure you have a fresh tube of toothpaste waiting in the cupboard the moment you run out. Meals magically appear on your plate, socks end up clean and sorted in your drawer, and your children are for the most part well-balanced, thriving individuals.” I threw up my hands. “If you need a personal assistant, then heaven help the rest of us.”
I don’t think either of us was prepared for my diatribe. And, like a good spouse, Logan didn’t retort back with comments about how a paycheck magically appears in our bank account, or the cars mysteriously get fixed when they’re not running right. But I’ll tell you what, he dropped the subject of personal assistants like it was hotter than a firework on the Fourth of July.
Sometimes spouses tread down a conversational road they simply shouldn’t be on. Take, for example, my brother-in-law Kelly. Months ago, when we were thick into the pandemic, he was working from home like so many people were. His particular line of work requires him to have a sound studio in his home for the voice and video projects he does for his clients. The need for utter silence while recording is not a convenient situation to be in when you are forced to work in the same space where you are quarantined with your wife and five children. One day when we were visiting, Kelly explained to us how he managed to get his work done under such circumstances.
“I’ve developed a light system,” he said, pointing to a colored bulb hanging from the ceiling in the hallway adjacent to his sound studio. “White means it’s okay to come in. Blue means I’m working and I’d really rather you stay out. Red means I’m recording, and if you open the door, you’ll regret it.”
I glanced over at his wife, Annie, who was rolling her eyes during his speech. She had been homeschooling their kids, keeping life running during a pandemic, and also working part-time from home, all with no light system to speak of to keep her children at bay.
“What color do you use to indicate that you’d love for them to barge in and tell you in-depth about the weird dream they had the night before?” I asked. “Or to let you know that the toilet water is juuuuust about to overflow, but to not worry about it because it was for sure someone else’s fault?”
Annie laughed and got in on the action: “Yeah, what color means that you’d welcome an invitation to help them catch the chickens that just escaped, or to find something for them to eat for their nine-millionth snack of the day?” Kelly looked scared. Logan looked amused. The lights in the hallway didn’t know what they should be doing and blinked feverishly in fear. The wives were on a roll.
I’m reminded of something that cartoonist Bob Thaves once wrote about the iconic dance duo of Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire: “Sure he was great, but don't forget that Ginger Rogers did everything he did…backwards and in high heels.”
And, might I add, without colored light bulbs or a personal assistant.