WAITING FOR THE school bus to return my youngest onto me, I took a mad vagary and Googled: “Do you know what your love language is?”

There are those who believe nothing is done by chance but I swear to you, I was just bored and had a few minutes to spare. Before I knew which end was up, I found myself engrossed in an affiliated quiz promising me I would soon be delivered of this information free of charge.

For the uninitiated, there are five love languages – words of affirmation, quality time, receiving gifts, acts of service and physical touch.

I wasn’t one bit surprised to “learn” that mine is acts of service – pitching in with chores and tasks, or anything really, to help me better navigate my day.

Feeling very seen and a bit mischievous, I asked those in my inner circle what did they think their love language could be.

For the womenfolk, acts of service came in a clear head and shoulders over the other contenders with an almost scornful and outright rejection of quality time and physical touch. The male division, however, bagsied physical touch as being their primary love language.

Trying very hard not to pander to a particular stereotype, I deliberated over my tiny poll a little more and acceded to the very high probability that our individual love language changes depending on where we are in life.

Loving what matters

In a new relationship, for example, we would identify robustly with all five. Each contributing equally to bonding and mating rituals in order to keep the romance alive and interesting. Understandably then, receiving gifts, quality time and physical touch are shunted sideways later on, becoming secondary to acts of service when we juggle children, homelife and busy careers.

They say opposites attract, so what happens if a partner doesn’t lean into physical touch preferring instead to use words of affirmation to express their love for their significant other?

Different kind of fireworks, perhaps?

American author and marriage counsellor Gary Chapman pinned down the concept by observing how couples expressed and interpreted their concept of love. He went ahead and wrote a best-selling book, one that lurked on the New York Times best-selling list for a whopping 297 weeks. A CNBC article says it remains “conversation fodder” 30 years after being first published in 1992.

In it, Chapman informs us we each have a primary love language and possibly a secondary one. He also reckons learning your partners preferred method of communication is crucial to your relationship.

More work then.

Irish people wouldn’t be best known for our elaborate displays of love and affection – down with that sort of thing – we are far more comfortable with a parlance loosely disguised as affectionate insults and passive aggressive slagging. Identifying strongly with this construct myself, I have some questions for Dr Chapman.

Labour of love

How did things come to this? Love languages? Are they not just a big bag of notions? Can someone not just take out the bins without first having to be told they’re deadly? Why not whittle it all down into a singular, simple vernacular, one we all understand.

Can’t we just be sound and nice to each other without what sounds to me like resorting to a sly act of bribery? I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine type of transaction?

I wonder what an Irish adaptation of the five love languages would look like? As individual as the compiler, I’d wager.

When my kids were small and I was second guessing myself like no-one’s business, I would have dined out for weeks on words of affirmation the likes of, “you’re doing a great job! Well done!” Time has passed and today I no longer question my capabilities. These days I positively glow when people comment on my well-mannered dog. “You’ve done a great job. Any tips?”

A decade ago, if I had to define my idea of quality time, the answer would have been a resounding, Oh yes, please – but preferably alone. Present day me is thrilled skinny to be in the company of a glass of wine and a decent crossword puzzle.

Who amongst us would refuse a surprise gift? And it doesn’t have to be a vulgar declaration of a love atrocity like a new wheels or, true story, keys to a house. I’d be only delighted with a few bags of spring bulbs from the garden centre. Snowdrops if you’re double checking. And a nice terracotta pot to grow them in. See? Easy.

Past acts of service would have included a lie on, and someone else attending to the many empty toilet roll inserts left on the bathroom floor. Today I will sing your everlasting praises if you attend the parent teacher meetings in my place and take charge of Mom Taxi for a month. OK, a week.

And the trickiest one of all – physical touch. Mothers are very au fait with the term “touched out”, meaning we have exceeded our limit – or willingness – for physical stimulation. It’s not called the motherlode for nothing, folks. Really there is nothing that can be done about this and equally, nothing to be gained from pretending otherwise. Someone is going to be unhappy regardless.

Other new, slightly more practical, love lyrics to address this could possibly include patience, acceptance, trust, empathy and understanding.

A very intuitive person shared a little gem with me years ago, intended for the trials and tribulations of motherhood. But I think it can be applied to any arena. “Sometimes it’s okay to be a little bit blind and a little bit deaf.” Now that’s a love language I can get on board with.

Gwen Loughman is the gatekeeper of four boys, one husband and a watcher over two dogs.