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.