Letter to My Husband

I lied. But I’m not sorry.

I wasn’t running late from the doctor’s office this morning. There was no traffic. In fact, I took the long way home and stopped to get a large coffee, which I finished before meeting you and the girls at the library for storytime.

Sometimes, it takes a little white lie to make something happen that might not have happened without the lie. You haven’t been able to attend one of Laurel’s storytimes, to see her shoulder-to-shoulder with other (all older!) 2-year-olds, to see how she differs. You don’t get to be the lucky (*cough*) parent who helps the kids with the craft. The glue, the stickers, the crayons, the mess, turning into a child’s masterpiece, a thing to hang on our wall at home with pride.

You’re the parent who has to go to work every day and come home at night, when the girls are tired and cranky. You get the leftovers of them, and sometimes it’s not pretty. Or quiet. Or sane.

I know you’re busy. I know how important work is. I understand your deadlines, your employers’ goals. But the time when they are this young is slipping through our fingers, and I don’t want you to miss some things.

Most of the million-and-one little miracles that happen each day, you have to miss. But today, even though the kids were cranky and moody, you made a choice to stick around through storytime. You could have left. Hell, you probably SHOULD have left. I’m sure your boss and co-workers would agree! It wasn’t a special storytime. The kids weren’t on their best behavior. But whenever I glanced back at you, you were taking it in, storing little vignettes away in your memory banks of Kelsey dancing her long-limbed spaz dance, of Laurel running back to the safety of her mom, throwing herself into my arms. You were comparing our kids to the other kids in the room, and I could see the pride in your face, the adoration.

Thank you. Thanks for letting us have this precious time. Thank you for changing your mind and coming with us to storytime. I knew you would *wink*

I hope you’ll forgive me the lie.

AND. That was the most amazing cup of coffee I’ve had in a long time. *grin*

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  • http://do-or-do-not.thunderdog.com/ Allen

    Oh, sweetheart. *bawl*

    I wasn’t going to stay. I was anxious for you to get there so I could get to work — and really, there wasn’t any reason for me to rush off. There’s nothing important going on today that needed my attention. So I stood there for a just a moment, watching you and the girls head into the library, all three holding hands, and one of the little voiced in my head whispered to me: “You really don’t want to miss this. This is more important.”

    I called after you and came with you, and I watched the girls dance and make paper ice skates and sing and be goofy and be mommy-centric and be insane and I loved every minute of it.

    Thank you for lying to me. :)