On the way home from Chicago, I called home and spoke to Phoenix. Hubby was out with Buttercup and Cuckoo, so the boys were happy. (When Phoenix is in charge, we let them watch TV. It assures us that nothing will get broken and no fights will break out in our absence.) I jokingly told Phoenix that I would be home between 5:30 and 6:00, so he better have dinner on the table for me.
At 5:10 I got a phone call. Hubby was in a tizzy, frantically searching the freezer and pantry, looking for something to cook. See, Phoenix is a stereotypical male who cannot read or exhibit expressions or emotions. He heard "have dinner ready", so Dad was told that dinner better be ready. Phoenix got this trait from his father, so husband didn't question Phoenix. If he would have, he would have found out that in reality, I was completely kidding.
So, after I calmed Hubby down, we agreed to meet at a restaurant. A flurry of stories was thrown at me in between kisses and hugs, and I soaked up every minute of it. It had been a busy weekend. So busy, that Cuckoo hadn't gotten much sleep, and actually fell asleep before the food came, and didn't wake up until we put him in the carseat.
It's fun to go away, but it's so nice to come home.
Hubby is such a good dad. Despite the fact that he can be overwhelmed with 3 and a half days alone with the kids, everyone was fed (some healthy food even!), happy, and uninjured. He even reminded them to do a few loads of laundry. Score!
It was a perfect example of a conversation my book club had.
Each book club trip, one friend has a question or two that is meant as a "get to know you and make you think" conversation starter. This year she asked, "Did you marry your father?" It was a great question, and took us off into all sorts of areas. My answer to it was as follows:
While my dad and Hubby are both smart men who are very good with finances and enjoy history, I didn't marry my father. Where Dad is outgoing and impulsive, Hubby is an introvert and never makes a move without a detailed, thought-out plan. (For example, my parents married after knowing each other for two weeks. Hubby and I dated for 7 years before we tied the knot.)
They are very different people, but there is one thing that they both do well. They both love me completely and let me know it.
My parents divorced when I was about 8 years old, but my dad never lived more than 2 miles from us. He never missed a single weekend that he was to have us. He took us roller skating on Wednesday nights (back when roller skating was all the rage) He did fun things with us, like a day trip to Niagrara Falls. When we would go to the pool, he didn't sit on the deck with the adults. He jumped in and played with us. We would go to the local park to roll down the huge hill and feed the ducks. Our childhood was certainly not a breeze, but even through the rocky times, I always knew that my dad loved me more than anything.
So when it was time for me to head out on my own, I knew what it was like to feel loved. I knew that I shouldn't settle for someone who merely said he loved me. I was to look for someone who showed it. Lived it. I knew.
Many people have said that I was lucky to find Hubby. Luck had nothing to do with it.
My dad made the choice to be there for his children. To let us know that he loved us. And when God led Hubby and me together, I was able to recognize it. I was able to see that the way Hubby treated me was love. A good, healthy, enduring kind of love that needed to be held on to.
And I did.
And now, that husband who loves me so, is showing our daughter what to look for.
To find someone who loves her. She'll know that love when God sends it her way.
Have a lovely day!
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