Curling

I grumbled to Shawn the other day after I picked up the millionth sock off the floor, realizing (out loud) that I spend a lot of my time making his life easier. It's like those weird curler people up front, frantically doing things ahead of the ball or whatever that thing is, helping it to move along faster, smoother, with fewer obstacles in the way. That's me. Blocking him from the bad stuff. Organizing his life. Intercepting all things negative, paying the bills, buying the toilet paper, running the company, doing the dirty work so that his world orbits around nice and steady.

I'm making my way through a summer book, trying to finish before September hits - Fly Away Home.

So far we've got a Senator's wife who gave up her law career and let a nanny raise the kids while hubby's never home so she could devote her whole life to him, making his life smooth sailing - writing speeches, smiling and waving, Pilates-ing her way into size 6 St. John suits, frantically brushing that ice until, guess what, he starts running around with a twenty-something aide. Nice.

Made me think. Is that my life? Well,  not the nanny thing, not the home alone thing and definitely not the size 6 thing. I threw the socks in the laundry room and thought about all that he does to make my life easier - plays the buffer in so many situations, does all of the he-man, climbing on the roof stuff, healing the sick and making his patients happy, being a good dad. So it really is a team effort, I guess, sort of like curling, somebody pushing sometimes, somebody pulling and it all works out in the end, no twenty-something necessary.

I smiled today as I saw him walking down the hall, a pair of dirty socks in his hand.