Gracie and I were in the car the other day, alone, when she piped up from the back seat, “Mommy, are you and Daddy going to get divorced?”  I almost choked on my diet Dr. Pepper and couldn’t imagine where that thought came from.  I asked her why she would ever think that and and she replied, “Well, you get so upset with him when he moves stuff and doesn’t tell you!”  I suppressed my laughter and explained to her that no, Daddy & I weren’t going to divorce because he moved my sewing scissors (that were on the floor where they shouldn’t have been).  I tried to explain in 7-year-old terms that I love her Daddy more than anyone in this world and that just because we disagree sometimes, we are not going to split up.

I thought about that conversation a good bit today.  Today is our 9th anniversary.  And, honestly, today couldn’t be more different than our wedding day.  Instead of being together, surrounded by our friends and family, we spent the day apart and we’ll spend the night apart, too.  Steve woke up this morning feeling pretty bad.  I can’t say that I was too surprised.  Abigail has strep throat and I’ve had a pretty ugly cold for the last couple of days.  But, because Steve is the kind of man that he is, he went into work because he didn’t want to let his co-workers down.  I convinced him that he didn’t need to go to church tonight and teach his Wednesday night class of second and third graders and pass on whatever toxic germs he is carrying to them.  (I decided I’d recovered sufficiently enough to teach my 4th and 5th graders but after an hour of trying to make my weak voice heard over their din, I’m not so sure that was a smart move!).  After some not too subtle prodding by me, Steve went to the urgent care clinic and the doctor there prescribed him some antibiotics.  He’s sleeping in our bedroom now.  Hopefully, he’ll feel worlds better tomorrow. 

I’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight, like I have for the last couple of weeks.  That is by choice, but not because I don’t want to share a bed with my husband.  The truth is I am scared to sleep with Abigail by myself because I’m afraid she’ll have another shaking spell.  But, I’m absolutely terrified of her sleeping alone. So, the ridiculous solution is that Steve sleeps with her, keeping a watchful, but less neurotic than mine, eye on her.   It’s not the best plan; I know this.  But, to me, it’s yet another way that Steve demonstrates how much he loves me and the girls.  He’s willing to do whatever he has to to keep us safe (and me sane). 

As I’m writing all of this, I’m realizing how terribly unromantic it all sounds – Nyquil and antibiotics and juggling teaching church classes and 5-year-olds having shaking episodes.  And then there are all the other things:  medical bills and family dramas, and a highly emotional 7-year-old and multiple jobs for both of us and cars that break down and water pipes that burst.  Yeah, it doesn’t sound that romantic at all on paper.  I guess because right now, it isn’t romantic.  It’s so much more than romance.  It’s a man who gets up each day and works hard, but still calls at lunch to see how my day is going.  A man who thanks me for cooking dinner even when all I’ve done is throw frozen fish sticks on a baking sheet.  A man who’s willing to cut his mother-in-law’s grass after he’s already cut his own just because he loves his wife.  A man who tries his best every day to make me happy. 

Abigail and I were riding in the car this morning and she said.  “Mommy?  Where are we going for you and Daddy’s anniversary?  Should I change into a beautiful dress?”  I told her we weren’t going anywhere.  After I talked to her for a few minutes, I realized that she thought Steve & I were actually getting married again today.  She had visions of flowers and a church and friends and family being there.  She had the whole romantic ideal going on in that adorable little head of hers.  And, I smiled.  Because the romance is wonderful, it truly is.  But this so much more. It’s life and it’s real and it’s love and I’ll take that any day over flowers and a pretty dress.