Love Story Too ~*~ A Belated Valentine
I'm mad at you. I work hard to make healthy meals, and you and The Little Boy just snuck out for Jack in the Box. And The Little Boy was excited, because he and his Papa went and got yummy things, and I'm sorry you weren't there Mama, but here I saved you a french fry! I'm frustrated with you. Because the bed is covered with laundry to be folded, because the dishes need to be done, because I haven't figured out dinner for tonight. Because the walls need to be painted from our remodeling, because the carpet is thrashed, because there are bills to be paid. And I'm already tapped out, and wondering where the treadmill stops. All I want is a nap. A nap like The Baby in the other room is having. The Baby, who, when I tiptoe in to watch him sleep, has an angel's face. Yours, to be precise. So I'm thinking of you. We have photos of us at our wedding, us on our honeymoon, hung (crookedly) on our walls. I walk slowly down that hall (which needs to be vacuumed), and I pause to touch them. For an instant, I'm on the beach in Fiji, where you proposed to me. I'm smelling the salt spray around us on the beach in California, where we got married. I'm barefoot and the sun is shining. And we're walking on those beaches, talking about our family, the family we're going to make. I am mad about the french fry. But how can I stay mad? It's from my little I Love You. The walking, laughing, playing, little "I Love You" that we made. Together. This life? This is our love story, the one we make together, the one we're making every single day, in story time and lunch time, sleep time and bath time. In hours and in minutes, in our tasks as they come to us, this is the love we've made. I can't stay mad. Not even for a french fry.