It’s the little things, really. Those small gestures that whisper, “I love you.” They matter so much more than grand gestures that scream it.
He puts the dishes away each morning before I get up and leaves out the containers I’ll use for my lunch so I don’t have to get them myself.
He changes the oil in my car without my having to ask him to do so.
He comes up every Sunday morning and gets Olivia out of our bed, leaving me with two whole hours in which to sleep without sharing the bed with anyone. This is the best two hours of sleep I get each week.
He smiled indulgently whenever I yell grammar corrections at the television and when I suggest we watch yet another science fiction movie or television show.
He lets me be me without ever feeling like I’m less than everything he ever wanted in a partner, a mother to his daughters.
These things, the little things, matter. They are the ones that describe a lasting, enduring love, the kind of love that will take you from those lustful glances over the table at your first date to the gentle hand-holding as your daughter’s wedding.
Is it always sunshine and roses? No. Of course not. Everyday life doesn’t lend itself to constant joyous contentment. There must be rain in order to enjoy the rainbow. But knowing that things have been tough and yes, can even get tough again makes me appreciate these times of contentment, of peace, of gentle loving that much more.
A mom, a dad and two daughters. We're living ordinary lives with a twist of 5p- (Cri du Chat) for spice. But we're about so much more than our younger daughter's genetic diagnosis.
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