Like most parents on a Saturday morning, I just wanted to sleep late. And when I say late I mean 7:00 instead of 6:00. But it was no surprise that at 6:15 I could hear the kids waking up. I tried to ignore the stomping down the hallway, the yelling over toys and the bathroom door opening and closing. I rolled over and snuggled up next to my husband. It was a cool morning, in the 40’s outside and 60’s inside. The blankets warm, the comforter pulled up and my husband was gently rubbing the side of my arm and leg. I could have laid there another hour easily. But the yelling became louder and the knocking on the bedroom door started.
I slowly rolled out of bed, making sure I dragged the comforter back in place to try to keep the warmth in as long as possible. I pulled on a sweater, made my way down the hall slipping on a Hot Wheel and ordered the kids to sit down at the table. I made three bowls of cereal, three cups of chocolate milk and locked everything back up. (Refer to 20 Photos Blog.) And then I told the oldest to keep an eye on the twins so I could sleep a little longer. Nods were exchanged, kisses on foreheads given and I made sure to dodge the Hot Wheel as I made it back to bed.
The husband gave me a muffled, “Everything okay?” which I replied to by snuggling up to him making sure my cold feet rested just so on the back of his knees and my hands snaked under his side. He never flinched. He’s my furnace in the cool weather and after so many years he’s come to expect it. It’s kind of penance for me having to get up and allowing him to stay cozy longer. It works for us.
The husband and I in 1994.
Married for about 6-months in this photo.
(The Dallas Arboretum.)
Soon after I was warmed back up I could hear the kids fussing again. Seems one didn’t like the cereal, another wanted to watch cartoons and all of them were cold. My hope was that they’d all crawl back under their covers and watch cartoons. I mean, that’s what I would have done as a kid on a Saturday morning, but not the twins. While the oldest went back to bed with a book the twins decided to eat more cereal or rather, pour the whole family size box of cereal on the table and floor. And I can tell you the exact moment it happen. It was right as my husband started gently rubbing my arm and leg again.
I love the touch of my husband. The way his scarred and battered hands can just glide across my skin. When strong hands have to slow down to make a gentle touch, you can actually feel the love and cherishing in them. And knowing my husband still finds me attractive when my size 8 has slowly increased to an 18 and my face no longer holds that youthful glow of a teenaged girl I was when first we started dating… these are moments to treasure.
And so I did. I ignored the sounds of messes being made. I shut out the fighting and then the sharp contracts of stage whispers from kids getting away with things they shouldn’t just so I could have a few minutes to be a lover and not a mother. I knew the consequences and even hesitated for just a second wondering if I could stop them before it got out of hand… but the idea of losing that moment just so I could avoid a mess seemed silly. My husband needed and most importantly wanted me… a mess could wait.