My Valentine and Me
My valentine and I have been married twenty-three years now. We married almost as soon as we met. I knew within our second date that I wanted to spend my life with him. Yet we are as different as sardines and caviar. Sometimes I am the caviar and sometimes he is. But we're never the same.
He wakes up in the morning joyful, eager to face the challenges of a new day. Before I've even opened my eyes, he has jumped from bed and is already reviewing the logistics of our day. "Now you'll pick up Janie from basketball practice, while I go to Mike's track meet. Then we'll meet at the house before we to pick up a gift for Liz's birthday. Did you balance the checkbook last night? Do we have enough for me to get tires today?" He goes on and on. I cover my head in the hope that I can get just five more minutes of sleep.
Realizing that I am only semi-conscious, he brings a big mug of steamy, aromatic coffee to my bedside table. He rubs my back until I open my eyes. "Come on. You're going to be late," he coaxes me.
After our long day is done--after we've toiled at the jobs that keep the roof over our heads--after we've chauffered the kids where they need to go--after I've prepared dinner and he's cleaned the kitchen--my morning time valentine is about ready to pass out. He goes to bed at night just as anxiously as he leaves it in the morning. He peels off his clothes as he walks into the bedroom and falls into bed, asleep before his head hits his pillow.
Now it's my time. Before I can even consider going to bed, I check to be sure the doors are locked and the security alarm is set. I argue with my daughter about being on the phone so late. I tell my son to clean up his mess as he makes a few sandwiches to tide him over until breakfast. While in the kitchen, I move meat from the freezer to the refrigerator so that it will thaw in time for dinner the next day.
Moving down the hall toward our bedroom, I stop in my home office to respond to any e-mails that may have arrived from readers. I hate to keep anyone who has read one of my books waiting for a "thank you." While there I make sure any bills that arrived in the day's mail are filed properly before they're misplaced.
Finally I make it to the bedroom where I brush my teeth, remove my makeup and take a long relaxing bath. Yeah--night time is my time.
How we have survived, yeah, even thrived, in a house together with our different personal clocks amaze us sometimes. We make our relationship work because we love each other. We not only love each other, but we have a deep, abiding respect for one another. I know that I want to be with him the rest of my life and I think he feels the same way too. That's a commitment we made in 1983 and one we make each year on our personal Valentine's Day--our anniversary. Oh, how I love that man.
He wakes up in the morning joyful, eager to face the challenges of a new day. Before I've even opened my eyes, he has jumped from bed and is already reviewing the logistics of our day. "Now you'll pick up Janie from basketball practice, while I go to Mike's track meet. Then we'll meet at the house before we to pick up a gift for Liz's birthday. Did you balance the checkbook last night? Do we have enough for me to get tires today?" He goes on and on. I cover my head in the hope that I can get just five more minutes of sleep.
Realizing that I am only semi-conscious, he brings a big mug of steamy, aromatic coffee to my bedside table. He rubs my back until I open my eyes. "Come on. You're going to be late," he coaxes me.
After our long day is done--after we've toiled at the jobs that keep the roof over our heads--after we've chauffered the kids where they need to go--after I've prepared dinner and he's cleaned the kitchen--my morning time valentine is about ready to pass out. He goes to bed at night just as anxiously as he leaves it in the morning. He peels off his clothes as he walks into the bedroom and falls into bed, asleep before his head hits his pillow.
Now it's my time. Before I can even consider going to bed, I check to be sure the doors are locked and the security alarm is set. I argue with my daughter about being on the phone so late. I tell my son to clean up his mess as he makes a few sandwiches to tide him over until breakfast. While in the kitchen, I move meat from the freezer to the refrigerator so that it will thaw in time for dinner the next day.
Moving down the hall toward our bedroom, I stop in my home office to respond to any e-mails that may have arrived from readers. I hate to keep anyone who has read one of my books waiting for a "thank you." While there I make sure any bills that arrived in the day's mail are filed properly before they're misplaced.
Finally I make it to the bedroom where I brush my teeth, remove my makeup and take a long relaxing bath. Yeah--night time is my time.
How we have survived, yeah, even thrived, in a house together with our different personal clocks amaze us sometimes. We make our relationship work because we love each other. We not only love each other, but we have a deep, abiding respect for one another. I know that I want to be with him the rest of my life and I think he feels the same way too. That's a commitment we made in 1983 and one we make each year on our personal Valentine's Day--our anniversary. Oh, how I love that man.
posted by Mildred and James Walters @ 7:47 PM
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