The other day, I was feeling flustered at home, trying to get a bunch of cleaning chores done while also managing child demands. I went upstairs for something, and suddenly I hear the vacuum cleaner running. It was Mike, vacuuming the entire downstairs. And I wondered to myself where Anne was, because last I saw her, she was plunked in the middle of the kitchen floor, itching to be on the move at any given second. So I hurry downstairs, to make sure she hadn't gotten into anything.
No Anne in the kitchen. I quickly check the adjacent dining room and living room. No Anne. Mike's current vacuuming is in the downstairs guest room/office, so I rush in there. And there he is, carefully moving the vacuum cleaner across the rug in there with one hand, Anne tucked onto his hip with the other, her cherubic-like cheeks on full chub mode, eyes wide as saucers.
It made me think of a commercial I saw once featuring a NASCAR driver, in which a woman falls asleep exhausted from her household responsibilities, and dreams about what she would do with her favorite driver. And what she dreams about is him cooking dinner, washing her car, and vacuuming the carpet with a melting down toddler stowed away under his arm. It always made me smile, as did the scene I walked in on in our guest room.
These are the things that make for a strong marriage. :)