Godiva Chocolates and Laundry, M&Ms and Skittles

Self portrait beside my desert rose plant.  Sarah (the world's more talented plant person) fertilizes it and it goes crazy.  It almost reminds me of when I would work with kids in second grade who didn't like to read.  An M&M or a Skittle per page went a long way towards getting them to really open up to what reading had to offer.
It also just look really amazing.

The house is quiet this morning. In a little while I will turn on a video and jump on my small trampoline for 30 minutes to get my heart rate up.  Then is homework and laundry.  After that I pick up the iPad that I dropped something on a week ago (I didn't even notice it--but Nathan noticed the crushed corner right away.), before heading south to the Fort Lauderdale Temple Open House to do the evening shift of Tour Guides.  They needed so many more that I also signed up to do a double shift tomorrow (Saturday).  I guess they have over 9,000 people signed up to visit.  That means that I get short breaks between every group of people that I lead through the temple.  I have it easy.  Some who come and help have to stand in the sun for four hours at a time showing people where to park or pointing out which way the sidewalk traffic flows.  

I don't think that this writing is very "essay-ish," but I have been up since 6:30 am, gone and done an hour of pilates physical therapy for my back, brought in the empty recycle bins, started laundry and mailed a package to my oldest daughter and her husband.  

Maybe this is not just a scatter of thoughts after all.  When the children were small, I tried to "get organized" and write up a list of things to accomplish the next day.  The number of things was usually pretty long.  Usually I got about half of the stuff crossed off.  One day, nothing went right.  The kids woke up sick.  The laundry was WAY backed up so there was a dearth of clean sheets and shirts.  My list had included the weekly grocery shopping trip--so there was very little left in the refrigerator.  By the time Brent got home, I was exhausted and sweaty.  He came into the family room to find me surrounded by two crying pre-schoolers and one whimpering infant.  I hadn't done the dishes from the night before or that day.  I hadn't even dared to leave the kids for the time a quick shower would require . . . in fact, I was still in my pajamas.

He knelt down beside me and kissed my cheek. As he looked around the room, I snuffled out "I didn't get anything done on my list today."

He smiled and asked to see the list.  I told him where I had left it the night before and he went and got it.  Before he returned, I heard him call to have a pizza delivered.  Still in his work suit, he sat beside me on the floor, pencil and list in hand.

As he read each item, he crossed it off and wrote in something else.  "Call for visiting teaching appointments." he replaced with "Got the children up and dressed."  "Go to grocery store." he replaced with "Fed children breakfast and lunch."  "Take children to library." he drew a line through and wrote "Comforted sick children by telling them stories and singing to them."

You get the idea.

Instead of laughing at my efforts or criticizing the piles of dishes in the sink, he offered the equivalent of a Godiva dark chocolate confection, by recognizing all that I had actually done that day.

Just before we fell asleep in bed that night, he confessed that he wouldn't trade his job for mine for anything in the world.  My work was much harder than his daily office routine.  

Brent at 9:30 pm yesterday taking a break from doing taxes and taking a conference call.

I still remember that evening--and that day--after 25 years.  He has made a life for me where whatever I have done has been the perfect thing to do.

He has allowed me to have three children, own and jump horses, act in community theatre plays, attend and teach college classes, and "spend all the money--as long as I didn't spend more than we had."

I love him and miss him every day.  The end of many of our phone conversations ends with (besides the "I miss you.  I love you.  I'm praying for you.") my admonition:  "Don't die."

I have been blessed with the knowledge that I could survive if he died before me--but like patience, I would much rather not have to make use of it.