My favourite moment at the end of each day is when the Carpenter walks in the door from work. It’s true.
Fourteen years married (this week) and more than 20 years together and I can still say that I get butterflies in my stomach when I hear the door open and he shouts “hello!”
The butterflies are, in part, due to a sense of relief that this courageous man has returned to join me in the land of chaos known as our home. He could easily choose not to.
Sure, I would hunt him down and compost him in the yard, but so far he hasn’t tried to run.
He willingly walks into the reality that dinner is not yet ready because his wife, the stay-at-home writer who forgot to shower and is still in her pajamas, is on deadline.
One child is hysterical over math homework and needs the Carpenter’s help to calculate decimals, while the other child can’t find their mouth guard for hockey, which starts in 30 minutes and it’s the Carpenter’s turn to carpool the kids.
We both temporarily ignore the fact that the dog has pooped on the floor in retaliation for nobody taking the time to play ball with her. She wants attention. Everybody wants attention.
Welcome to home, sweet home.
One day last week, a miracle happened: I made dinner and we ate at the kitchen table as a family. I was dressed like a normal person, the children were cooperating, the Carpenter was home on time and the dog was content.
It was like a scene from a movie. Normal. We actually had conversations in real time without the aid of technology. Everyone got a turn to speak.
The Carpenter relayed a story about his drive home. While stuck in traffic, he had the windows down and could hear someone whistling. You know that sexy whistle sound? For a man who can’t hear much after years in construction, he heard the sound not once, but twice.
Sure enough, seated in the car next to him were two young female harlots (inside voice) who were giving the Carpenter the eye. Astonished he asked them who they were whistling at, only to blush when he realized it was all for him. He was in shock. I know him well enough to know he didn’t have a smooth, macho reply. He was never that guy. He probably just grinned like an idiot and the girls drove on. As sad as that may sound, that makes him all the more adorable to me.
At the end of the day, his truck pulled into the driveway and he walked into the chaos of our home. He couldn’t wait to share this funny story with his family over a humble dinner because he knew we would all laugh about it together, whistling at him, teasing him as we do.
It was one of the best dinners we’ve had in a long time.
It’s no secret why I feel butterflies in my stomach each day when I hear that truck pull in. It’s real. I know that I am lucky and I don’t take it for granted. Neither does the Carpenter.
We’re in this chaos together because we created it. It’s a choice. It’s everything. And we wouldn’t have it any other way. Fourteen years (insert sexy whistle here). I wouldn’t change a thing.
Writing has been my passion since I learned how to hold a pencil (which I still cannot do properly). Despite my father’s insistence that I would starve to death in this career, I remain well fed and eager to write more. They say you should do what you love: I love to write.