My husband has been in Ohio for a week. It was a last minute trip that happened to occur during school vacation week. This means I had the honor of keeping my three boys busy by myself for the last seven days. I’ve missed my husband more each day. Not because I had extra things to juggle, but because I had no one to share my tea with each afternoon.

That sounds strange when I read it aloud. Most days when I come home from work, Mark and I share a cup of tea. I read once that a cup of hot tea has the same restorative power as a 20 minute nap. Perhaps that’s true. But, I drink it because it warms my hands when I hold the cup and for the twenty minutes it takes to enjoy the beverage, we talk. Some days it’s robust as we share ideas, plans, discuss current events. Other days it’s quiet as we simply share the peaceful moments before the approaching dinner hour calls us each to other tasks.

Every so often I come home frustrated with the number of things I need to get done: the laundry is piling up, the floor is desperately in need of a mopping, the dog needs a haircut and a bath, and somebody has practice in a sport of some sort. Because I’m one of those people who enjoy marking things as done on my list, I’m tempted to say I don’t have time to sit around drinking tea in the afternoon. I’d rather jump in and start getting things done – I need to be productive.

It’s those days when my husband proves what a wonderful man he is. He insists on us sitting down. I’m usually grumpy, short with my answers, and distracted. My brain can’t stop running through the list of things currently not being done. Sip by sip, gentle phrase by quiet question, he draws me into a conversation and forces me to take a break out of my mental musings long enough to sit back, relax my shoulders, maybe even put my feet up on the ottoman. Before I know it, my cup is empty and I’m not so burdened by the list of things waiting on me. It probably goes without saying, but I consider my husband magic.

It’s not that he has super strength, although he is quite strong. It’s that he has the ability to know when I need to get out of my head and remember that sometimes making progress on a list isn’t the most important thing. The dog won’t mind another day’s growth in his coat. The floor won’t complain about a reprieve from the mop, and the kids won’t argue about having to eat muffins from a mix instead of made from scratch bread because I started cooking too late to allow the yeast to rise.

Thinking about this reminds me of the importance of balance. Mark keeps me balanced when I start to focus only on the chores or the tasks. He pulls me back and makes me take a break when I think I can least afford to take one.

At work it’s my job to keep things balanced: all journal entries have two sides and I spend a great deal of time ensuring they are equal. Liabilities can’t outweigh assets and job duties can’t exceed potential hours to be worked. On paper, I excel at keeping things in line – ordered.

Personally, I tend to forget the second half of the journal entry. That’s when Mark’s special abilities come into play. When I forget that there’s more to a home than the house, Mark steps up and reminds me. When I look in the garage and see another place that needs to be organized, Mark manages to look in there and see my old catcher’s mitt, insisting we play catch. When I see nothing but disorder in the pantry, Mark looks in and pulls out a bag of peanut butter chips and announces he has a sudden hankering for fudge.

Don’t get me wrong – Mark likes it when we’re on top of the chores at home too, but he loves me more than a perfectly ordered sock drawer. He sees the little signs I ignore when my shoulders start tensing up, I’m cracking my back, and flexing my hands involuntarily, and I’m just a little snippy (it’s possible I’m understating that last bit just a touch and I should have said I’m a cranky as all get out and even the dog refuses to be around me, but I hope you’ll allow the more poetic phrase instead.)

He’d rather hear me laugh than the sound of the vacuum cleaner. Some days he accomplishes that by staying after me until I take a break and have our tea. Other days he does it by taking the vacuum from me and using it himself so that I can move on to the next thing because he knows I won’t relax until I’ve at least marked a few things as complete.

This week, the boys and I have done well. I’ve had sitters with the kids most days so I could stay on top of the most pressing tasks at the office and then I’ve tried to have at least one fun thing planned every day. I even brought them to work one day and my very gracious co-workers pretended it wasn’t at all distracting to have three children running around their desks for a few hours. All in all, it was a good week. But, I miss my husband. I’ve brewed tea and sat with the kids in the afternoon to catch up and found that even though it was made the way it always is, it doesn’t have the same flavor.

Please don’t send me e-mails criticizing how dependent I may sound in this post. I think sometimes in our desire to seek independence we miss the balance that comes from not only caring for others, but that equally important part of allowing yourself from time to time to be cared for. Often, we learn by example and if we wish to truly show compassion, don’t we have to risk being vulnerable enough to receive it as well?

My husband should be back around 4:00 tomorrow afternoon. I’m sure when he arrives after driving for more than 17 hours over two days the boys will crowd around, eager to welcome him home. I’ll hang back to let the overwhelming nature of their joy come through. And then when he makes his way from our children to me, I’ll smile…and offer him a cup of tea.

Hzappy Reading!