With a slouched stance, I look around the sitting room and let out a hoarse groan. Everything, everywhere. I lift my hand slowly with the intention of aggressively yanking out a few strands of hair but I made a fist instead.
I slumped into the rocking chair and a frustrated cry erupted from my throat. I lift my thigh and find a single pink lego. Those things are weapons. My feet and buttocks can attest to that.
One child is busy making a mess of the dominoes pieces, and I let her, because as a parent, you need to choose your battles. The other is singing, or dancing or, I just don’t know. All I know is, she’s moving around and it makes me dizzy and I also can’t hear myself think.
From the corner of my eyes, I see him swing the broom out of its usual dusty corner. He doesn’t have to but he does it anyway. We’re partners, equal halves. Although I feel like he bears most of the weight, I get treated like a more delicate half.
He sighs and looks at me before dragging the broom across the hardwood floor. “Honey, why don’t you take one child and go to the mall today? I’ll clean up around here.”
And my heart leaps.
I also feel this ball of guilt straining against my breastbone.
He doesn’t have to do all of this, for me.
Something he taught me, makes me jump at the opportunity to get out of the house for a short while. I didn’t always have an easy time accepting my husband’s kindness until I understood that he respected me as deeply as he loved me. He’s not as good with words as I am, but his actions speaks volumes.
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