Having Children Does Not Automatically Make You Eternally Happy
I am all over it. I have the kitchen cleaned. The laundry pile is diminishing. The floors vacuumed. The kids are dressed. Not necessarily color coordinated, but naked they are not. I have accomplished more and handled things that I never have in the past. I am the consummate father. Then she returns home.
I can feel a shift in the air immediately, although I am not sure how she does it. The kids run to her as if her return is vital to their survival. Traders. Hellos and hugs continue for several minutes and then the sight she holds begins its perusal.
The dog has enjoyed the coolness of the kitchen floor, and it is not as clean as it was an hour ago. She verbally notes the floors state of filth. The folded clean clothes have been disturbed by the playful hands of her own children within the past ten minutes. She states that doing laundry includes having it in ones dresser for ease of use. The graham crackers that were for consumption only, somehow ended up as a pile of soot under the cocktail table. As she unwinds the vacuum cord she asks herself, "Why do I leave at all?"
She is my wife.
She is my wife. She is the one I married 11 years ago. Under a gazebo, in a beautiful park, on a September day. Then, she was scrumptious, scrumptious in so many ways; Her hair, long and flowing. Her eyes; wide, brown and vivid. Her waist; smaller than it is now. Her laugh; endless.
Her love; made me feel more than alive. Her humor; why I married her. She has failed to see all that I have done over the last 24 hours without her. I mean we are still breathing, smiling and walking aren't we? I try to back up in time mentally. Why did she change so? When did she trade in the girl I married for this, efficient, sensible, logical, fanatical spouse? She liked who she was, and I needed who she was.
The light within our hearts...
She tramps up the stairs to unpack her overnight bag and change into some shorts and a T-shirt. The kids sit at the foot of the stairs and chant; "My mama, my mama, my mama," as they await her dissent back down the stairs. She is the center of our world. She is the light within our hearts. She is so much a part of us. As she picks up our 18-month-old son, his skunk butt causes her to turn up her nose. While she changes his diaper, our four year old daughter chatters on about all that she has planned for she and mom that day. She smiles at our daughter.
I have yet to kiss her today. I have yet to actually see her alone. I miss her so. As we all head out the front door to look over our gardens, I try to hold her back and let the kids go ahead. She tenses up at first and then looks up at me. "God, it's hard isn't it?" I ask her. She looks at me funny for a moment and then states, "I miss you too."