Two Pairs of Socks

10 Mar

Craig and I said goodbye this morning with a quick and sleepy kiss.  We won’t see one another again until Sunday night around 9 pm when I (hopefully) get home from work.

I came downstairs to a hysterically crying Gus.  Somehow he had inferred that his brother Henry was telling him that he was not allowed to eat any of the cereal that he had specifically chosen at the grocery store the day before. Henry was defensively explaining that he was NOT saying that Gus could not have any but that he was only saying that he, HENRY could ALSO have some.  This escalated and became shrill and intense. There was much tearing of hair and gnashing of teeth.  I felt sad that my day had started thus. Again.

I mediated and then doled out the Lucky Charms thinking “this is what I get for actually letting my kid pick out Lucky Charms. Chocolate Lucky Charms, no less.”  And then I headed upstairs to get myself dressed and maybe slurp down some coffee before descending back into the madness of morning school drop off.

On the stairs, I found a love poem Craig had left me…  One he’d written specifically for me.

You see, the night before, when I dragged myself up to bed,  my husband said he was going downstairs to do a load of laundry and would see me up there in a minute. (that’s not even the romantic part.)  And while he was downstairs sorting and folding and hanging, he must have thought, “Gen has two days of work coming up and she probably doesn’t have any of her favorite work socks upstairs and she’ll forget them on Saturday morning and be too tired on Saturday night and she’ll certainly forget them on Sunday morning”  And so he folded them and brought them up and left them on the stairs for me where I would be absolutely sure to see them.


I swear I looked at those socks and thought, “I have to be the most happily married woman this side of creation.”

And on I went with my day, eagerly awaiting 9 pm on Sunday night.


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