Women Know Things Men Don’t

I’ve always thought of myself as a fairly observant guy. I notice when the grass gets a little too long, I can tell when the car’s making that funny noise again, and I’m practically a human calendar for when the trash needs to go out. But there’s one area where I’ve come to realize I’m outmatched: my wife’s uncanny ability to know things—things that, quite frankly, I didn’t even know I didn’t know.

Take the other day, for example. It was a Saturday, a day full of promise and potential. I had grand plans to tackle some yard work, maybe take the kids to the park, and definitely avoid the pile of laundry that seemed to be growing sentient in the corner of our bedroom. My wife, in her infinite wisdom, simply smiled and said, “I think today might be a good day for you to stay close to home.”

Now, I’ve been married long enough to know that when my wife suggests something, it’s not really a suggestion. It’s more like a kindly worded directive from someone who, for reasons beyond my understanding, always seems to have a direct line to the universe’s master plan. So, I nodded, put down my car keys, and decided to make myself useful around the house.

By mid-morning, I was elbow-deep in the dishwasher, trying to figure out why it wasn’t draining properly, when my wife breezed into the kitchen with that look—you know the one—like she’d just had a conversation with a higher power and knew something I didn’t. She casually mentioned that maybe I should check the hose in the back because it could be clogged. I gave her a half-hearted “Yeah, yeah, I got this,” because, really, what did she know about dishwashers?

Turns out, a lot.

Not only was the hose clogged, but there was also a small plastic toy blocking the filter, a toy I’m almost certain I told the kids never to bring near the kitchen again. As I fished it out, I could hear her muffled laughter from the living room, the sound of someone who’s long since learned that her husband will always need just a little extra guidance.

Later that day, I decided to tackle the garage—my domain. It’s where I keep my tools, my half-finished projects, and, if I’m honest, my collection of old, useless gadgets that “might come in handy someday.” I was deep into reorganizing when my wife popped her head in, holding a cup of coffee. “Hey,” she said, “I just had a feeling—you might want to double-check the Christmas lights before you put them back up in the rafters.”

Now, Christmas was months away, and the lights were tucked away neatly. I figured there was no reason to bother with them now. But there it was again—that feeling she seemed to have. I gave in, partly because she was usually right and partly because I knew I’d never hear the end of it if she was.

So, I pulled down the box of lights, untangled the mess that always seems to happen no matter how carefully I pack them away, and plugged them in. Nothing. Not a single bulb lit up. I shook my head, muttering something about “cheap lights” and “why do I bother,” while she sipped her coffee with that knowing smile. “Good thing you checked,” she said, with a hint of triumph.

And then it hit me. It wasn’t just about the lights. My wife didn’t just know things—she sensed them. She had this innate, almost mystical ability to anticipate what needed to be done before anyone else had even thought of it. It was like living with a Jedi who’d chosen homemaking as her area of expertise.

But the pinnacle of her perceptive prowess came later that evening. We had just finished dinner, and I was looking forward to plopping down in front of the TV with a cold drink. Our youngest was in a particularly playful mood, running around with more energy than seemed humanly possible. Just as I was about to declare it “Mom and Dad Time,” my wife looked up from her book and said, “You might want to grab him before he—”

Too late.

Before she could even finish her sentence, there was a crash from the next room. The kind of crash that makes every parent’s heart stop for a moment—the crash of a lamp that’s been knocked over by a tiny human tornado. I raced in to find our son standing there, wide-eyed and clutching his favorite blanket, a shattered lamp at his feet.

I cleaned up the mess, sent our little troublemaker off to bed with a stern but loving “be more careful next time,” and returned to the living room where my wife sat, still with that smile. “How do you do that?” I asked, genuinely baffled.

“Do what?” she replied, feigning innocence.

“Know things. All the time. It’s like you have some secret mom radar or something.”

She laughed, a light, knowing laugh. “It’s just experience,” she said. “You spend enough time with kids, and you start to see patterns. Plus, women just… know things.”

I thought about that for a moment. Maybe it was true. Maybe there was something to this idea that women had an extra sense, a way of knowing things that men just didn’t. Or maybe, I mused, it was just my wife—her unique brand of intuition that came from years of being the glue that held our family together.

Either way, I was grateful. Grateful for her insights, her quiet guidance, and her ability to see the things I so often missed. Because, in the end, it wasn’t just about knowing things. It was about being aware, being present, and understanding that sometimes the little things—like checking the dishwasher hose or double-checking Christmas lights—are what make life run a little smoother.

So, here’s to all the women out there with their sixth sense, their Jedi-like ability to know things before they happen. And here’s to the men who are lucky enough to learn from them, even if it’s just one dishwasher hose or broken lamp at a time.

We may not always understand how you do it, but we’re sure glad you do.