How do I love thee? Priorities.

 

So, this is how I often find my husband when he gets home from work late:

 

 

I keep the kids up to see him, if I can. In jammies, teeth brushed, they’re ready to fall into bed for stories. Daddy reads the stories. It’s one of the things he most looks forward to each day and his disappointment is palpable if he’s just too late to get it done and I’ve already done the ┬áreading and tucking in.

 

Being piled in with his kiddos makes him happy.

 

What I wish you could also see in this picture is the state of the room around that love-seat.

 

You can just barely make out the pink polka dot doll bed in the background. It overflowed with baby princess limbs. The bay window seat in the background was littered with legos. The floor was scattered with an array of books that children had excitedly explored after learning I’d been to the library.

 

It wasn’t anything awful, per se. But it definitely wasn’t tidy.

 

The thing is– that sort of evening clutter doesn’t really bother me. It’s just the resulting flotsam and jetsam of a day well-lived, really. And I know that it can be gathered and remedied in just a few moments.

 

It doesn’t bother me. But I see it.

 

My husband? Doesn’t even seem to see it. When he walks in that door? He only has eyes for me and the children. That’s it.

 

He says it’s about priorities.

 

He’s right.

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