Marriage is hard. I teach a course called "Marriage and the Family" and still... I can't seem to get it right. It's a never ending battle of forging ahead and giving in, at the same time as you both yearn for the people you were when you first met.
But do you? Really?
Yesterday my husband asked me if I could put his clothes in the dryer. I know this may sound odd to many women out there who are entirely responsible for their husband's laundry.... But I'm not usually allowed to touch his. I do mine (eventually) and the girls (poorly) and the sheets (from time to time). He does the towels and his clothes and the sheets (way more frequently than I'd think of it.).
I'm no good at laundry. I can't wash right or fold right or even get the clothes from the baskets back onto the shelves. It's an almost impossible task.
He likes his things a certain way, so I don't mess with it.
Back to yesterday: He needed to go to work and ran out of time, so he asked me to finish his chore.
"No problem," I said.
Then I forgot.
Then I remembered. I ran down the basement steps and threw open the washer. I grabbed an armful of his wet clothes out of the washer and bounded over to the dryer. (It's on the other side of the basement, don't ask..)
Halfway across the basement I stopped. His clothes smelled so clean. How does he do that? All mine smell musty when I forget them in the washer. I hugged the clothes. Man clothes. His pants and t shirts and boxers. I held them until my own shirt was wet. God, I love him. I love who he is now much more than who he was when we were younger.
I love how I know his ways. Bad or good.
I love how clean and perfect he is.
I love how much he cares about the yard and the house and the plants.
I love his damned clean laundry.
Sometimes, it's the craziest things that bring us right back where we are supposed to be.