My favorite is when he asks whether I want option A or B for dinner. I choose B, and am pleasantly surprised to find out that it’s red curry.
I ask if I can help, and he says no, that there’s nothing for me to do. So I set the table using my orange and white cloth napkins, and I put some music on. Ray LaMontagne’s “You Are The Best Thing” felt fitting for this evening. It’s been on repeat lately. Baby girl is awake, but not for long. She’s already in her pjs. They’re the ones that zip, and have a pineapple on them.
He always puts extra baby corn in my bowl because he knows I love baby corn. Little gestures like putting baby corn in someone’s bowl are the things that dreams, and happy marriages, are made of.
It’s brisk out this morning, so we wrap baby girl in her pink fleece blanket with hearts on it, and arrange the noisy metal chairs on the little concrete slab which is our back patio, until we’re close enough to pass her back and forth. He has his coffee black, and mine is, of course, full of hazelnut creamer. Don’t waste my time with French vanilla, or any cinnabon-esque flavor.
I see the live Christmas tree we planted in our yard with its fortress of bricks surrounding it, in hopes to keep the full-blooded puppy out. His white-turned-black snout tells us that he found the charcoal bag. Apparently we should have build a fortress around that too.
We see some neighbors out in their driveway, so we walk over, me in my slippers, baby skipping her nap, and we say hi, and catch up a little bit.
Three nights a week it’s dark when he comes home from work, and she’s already asleep in her crib. We sneak into her room together and he kisses her cheek. Sometimes he can’t help it, and he scoops her up into his arms, her sleepy cheek smashed up against his patterned dress shirt. He whispers into her ear, “If you need anything baby girl, just holler and I’ll be right there.” She sleeps in peace knowing she’s had a goodnight kiss from daddy. And a full belly from mommy.
We close her door, and have our late dinner of cobb salad. We talk about the customer with the interesting backstory, and the hilarious predicament his coworker found himself in. I tell him in full detail how baby girl discovered in her bath earlier that day that she can kick her feet and splash. He thanked me for the video.
Weller jumps up on the windowsill to see us sitting at the table. He wants to know what we’re up to, but he can’t handle not being with us. So we go outside and play old-blue-beach-towel tug o’ war until he loses some of that full-steam-ahead energy.
We fall asleep below our floral wallpapered accent wall, thankful for the simplicity, the blessings, the grace, and the overwhelming joy of NOW.