Tea (Part one of Many)

This morning, like so many others, you made me tea. When I woke, you were getting ready for work. I got out of bed to go to the bathroom, like everyone does every day. I am not everyone, however. I am loved. By the time I'm out of the bathroom, ready to feed the cat and crawl back in bed for some "me" time before I wake the kids, you are waiting with my tea.You make it in the larger size now, so that I don't have to get up to make myself more as soon as I might if you made it in a smaller mug. Not because I asked, but because you think of me.

 It is too hot to drink right away, so I hold it in my hands, feeling warm and special. You kiss me and leave for work. I check the news, play an online game, read, or catch up on e-mail in the half hour I have before the kids are up. And I slowly sip my tea.

 But you know all that.

What you don't know is this: that cup of tea, that first one you make me in the morning, is different. It is as if you are somehow still with me, still caring for me, still making sure you show me your love in every way you can. I swear it tastes better than my next cup will, even though it will physically be the same. I am always a little sad when I finish that cup. It is like the official beginning of my being the one responsible for what goes on at home, and with the kids, until you return. Oh, I know that if you were needed at home, or for the kids, you would be there. And I know that I can always call or text you if I need your help, or just to hear your voice. AND I know that you are still showing your love and dedication to me and our family by being at work. I don't feel abandoned, just more like I've started the "grown-up" part of my day. You are officially gone when my cup is empty.

This evening, you will come home. You will feel some of the weight of your workday dissipate, and I will feel some of the weight of my responsibilities lift. It is likely that at some point, you will again fill my cup. But this time it will just be appreciated as a loving gesture, because I will drink it beside you, already filled with love and joy and warmth because you are here.

March 22, 2013

Yesterday, I got lost taking Hannah to her friend's house. I had a throbbing toothache, cramps, and some digestive malady. By the time I finally got home, all I wanted to do was cry. When you saw me, you must have read my face, because you stood quickly and I was in your arms before I could shed my purse and coat. I barely got out the words "my tooth hurts" before you were helping me out of my coat and into bed. You held me while my stress and pain came out as tears. You kissed my forehead, cheeks, and neck, telling me all the while how much you love me, and how you wished you could make it better. You ate ramen for dinner that night, because I had failed to stop and pick something up at the store.


One would think that when you left the house to go get some necessities, you would be happy to leave that kind of scene behind for a moment. You might take the opportunity to think about something else, listen to music, or spend a few moments looking at things in the store that interest you. One would think. But when you came home, you had the things on the list you went for, and two extras - a "Square Pegs" DVD you thought I might like, and a new pill caddy. For me. It was a thoughtful gift, something I needed but kept putting off. Something you NOTICED I needed.


Thank you for loving me all the time, even when I'm hurting and unreasonable. Thank you for showing me you care by remembering the little things.

I Love Laundry?

Just a few minutes ago, I'm folding laundry and letting my mind wander. As I fold one of his t-shirts (the tan Altama t-shirt), I remembered a conversation we'd had earlier in the week as he was getting ready for work. He's trying to find a t-shirt in our too-small, overflowing with stuff bedroom. He pulled out this tan shirt and pulled it on and said something like "this will do". I lay in bed, coffee in hand, looking at his thin but muscular body in his jeans and that shirt. In my mind flashed a picture of him in that same shirt, and similar jeans, at some sort of family gathering early last summer. Maybe Independence Day. One of the first times I got to be with my husband at a casual get-together like that with my family. I had seen my sisters with their husbands, leaning in for a quick kiss before one went inside to get a drink, or sitting close to each other on a blanket. While I didn't want to marry again, I wanted to have someone there with me. And on this day, he was here. Of course, we were married, but that's not this story.

So that's where my mind goes... to him in this shirt at that thing. It brings back wonderful memories and good feelings. Plus, I love the way my husband looks. I don't know how it is I got to be with such a man, but I do enjoy lookin' at him from time to time. Mix up all that attraction and happy mushy memories, and take it all back to him getting dressed last week... got that?

So he says something like "this will do", and after a few seconds, during which I had the memories and feelings, I reply "I like you in that shirt".

Now let's be honest - there are plenty of things we women like to see men in, and vice versa. And a t-shirt and well-filled-out jeans might just be one of those things. But I'm not talking about that t-shirt that just barely fits and shows every ripple in his shoulders. And I didn't mean "I like you in jeans and a tee". I meant I really appreciated looking at him in that specific "got it free when I ordered something" otherwise nondescript t-shirt.

I think that's weird. But I also think it must be what love is.

Back to the laundry. Yeah, I know I've taken the long way to get here, but I promise that this is where I'm going. Mostly.

I'm folding Dave's underwear, and as I do, I'm not thinking about how much I hate folding laundry. I'm thinking about how much I enjoy lying in bed at the end of the day and watching him take off his jeans and under that I get to see these underwear. As I'm smoothing a wrinkle, I think of the number of times my hands have touched these while he was in them. I place them on the appropriate stack and the next thing I grab from the pile is that t-shirt. I fold it, as I have folded two others today. No rush, not just getting through the laundry, but caring for each item because they belong to him. And not at my own cost in any way. In fact, I enjoyed doing it. I enjoyed touching his soft white undershirts and thinking about how almost every night, I lie on his chest or arm, with my hand on his chest, feeling these shirts. I enjoyed folding the grey sweatpants that make me think of the few really cold days we had during his first winter here. The long underwear that he loves and I hate and that he just might wear through June if the weather stays as cool as it's been.

My mom used to tell me that if I changed my attitude and just learned to do work out of love, then I would learn to enjoy it. Of course, my mom was trying to get a young teenager to clean the living room at the time, so maybe she was desperate. Plus, sometimes my mom just said crazy things. All moms do. It's our way.

As a teenager, I seriously just dismissed what she said because I didn't want to enjoy work. Because that is, when you're a teenager, insane.  And my mom was often coming at it from the Christian example of the hardworking wife and an altruistic lifestyle. By the time I was a teenager, I was questioning my beliefs, and those two things were part of the reason.

I guess it took me until now to be able to reconcile very good advice with the source from which it came. I don't mean mom - mom's usually a pretty reliable source. I mean the inherent basis in Christianity. Sometimes it's still odd for me when I realize that some teaching that has always irked me because I linked it with Christianity is something that makes sense. As in this case, it usually makes sense for completely different reasons, but the outcome is that it works. Which is why those things have been allowed to continue as religious beliefs - if they didn't work, they wouldn't continue. Like not eating meat on Friday. Or during Lent. Or only if you don't have dietary restrictions. When the position didn't work, they changed it. Doing nice stuff for the people you love is common sense, but when you've had it taught as religion, and rejected that religion, it all gets a little bit foggy. Lots of things do, until you have a clear and defining moment where you realize one way or another that it makes sense - or why it doesn't.  I didn't fold laundry because I loved the people I was doing it for, I folded laundry because I had to. It doesn't mean I loved my kids any less, it just means I hadn't quite gotten it yet. I hadn't gotten that it isn't the work you enjoy, it's how you choose to see it. Today, I didn't see it as work, I saw it as something I wanted to do in pursuit of my goal of making my husband happy. As a bonus, I got to take a minute to sit and think about happy, funny, sexy, comfy times with him.

I certainly don't mean to encourage the idea of the subservient wife who gets joy out of doing exactly what her husband wants all the time. Eff that. Neither he nor I would be impressed with me if that's who I became. That's not what I'm talking about. I'm also not advocating the idea that because I'm the wife, I have to do laundry, so I'd better find some way to enjoy it. Eff that, too. The fact is, he's out grocery shopping on his day off while I merely fold the laundry. I won that trade. I think part of what I love in all of this is that we are working as a team in a way that most teams don't work. Most teams like to give each person a position and pretty much stick with that. We work with what we have to do what needs to get done. I like that about us. 

 I don't know if I'll ever be able to say that I just love doing me some laundry, but there's nothing wrong with getting joy out of doing something for someone else. Especially when that joy comes with a little bit of...um... excitement. Let's just say next time I fold laundry and let my mind wander, I'm saving the unders for last. Maybe sometime during the next load's spin cycle.