It's the nature of life, I suppose, when he has a job and a commute and I'm taking care of the home and our wee one and after that there's church, community group, family, serving opportunities, friendships--all manner of things and people vying for our time and attention. But I don't like it when I start to sound like a human calendar. When dinnertime conversation is
We need to make a decision about X
We've been invited to Y's party--do you want to go?
Are you having breakfast with Z on Saturday?
I need you to do this and this and this
I remember when we were first married, and Mike talked to me about how, for him as the provider working and fighting battles--both financial and otherwise--for us outside the home, it's important that our house is a sanctuary for him. A refuge, a place of rest and comfort and safety. And not just our home, but me. As a wife, one of my highest responsibilities is to be my husband's safe haven. His sanctuary. A restful person to be with.
Even though I'm not nagging--I'm pretty sure he'd agree--I realize that the way I've been interacting with him lately is more like a machine trying to get as much accomplished ASAP, rather than inviting his soul to rest when he gets home in the evening.
Honey, I'm sorry. Tonight, let's rest.