A Sunday Afternoon

"So, what's the plan?"  I ask, glancing at the clock.  3pm on a Sunday.  In our world of raising triplets, we usually have a schedule and most days follow a certain order.

Sundays we go to church at 11 and the kids are napping by 3.  But today, after wiping 3 little noses, and my own for the past 2 days, we decided to keep the kids and pregnant mama home.  I really don't like to be that parent that drops their kids off at the church nursery with a few tissues.  Not only do I want to be responsible for spreading the lovely nose wiping scenario from family to family, but come on.  Gross.  I don't like wiping noses that don't share my DNA, why should I think others enjoy it?

So, here we were on a Sunday afternoon, the kids having already napped in the morning and 3 solid hours staring us in the face until dinner.  Too cold to go outside (and remember the bit about running noses?) and poor planning leaving us with an empty gas tank, so no Sunday driving.  (We're those kind of people who don't like to visit a gas station on Sunday unless absolutely necessary.)

"I need a shower at some point today," I quip to my husband still in his white shirt and tie.  The lone church goer of the day.

"I'm not sure the kids will be able to last all afternoon in the playroom."  I keep rattling off potential problems with our Sunday afternoon.

He looks up at me and says, "Why don't you go take a shower - take your time - then stay in our room and read a book or take a nap.  Just relax."

I feel like a deer in headlights.  A pregnant deer. And the headlights have this sexy, 3 day beard going.

"Wait, what?"  I ask, still not understanding what he just said.

He laughs.  "Go take a shower.  Don't hurry.  Go read a book, take a nap if you want and I'll play with the munchkins."

The way my heart melted at that moment, he might as well just lassoed me the moon.  Or stood behind me on the bow of a giant ship while I exclaimed that I was flying.  Or just met me on top of the Empire State Building.  Or stood outside my window with a boom box over his head, blasting Peter Gabriel.

"Ok."  I squeaked out.  At that moment, one of the munchkins began wailing and calling for her Daddy.

"Hurry, go!  Get started!"  He said as he ran off to rescue his daughter from the clutches of one of her brothers.

"I love you."  I half-muttered to his back.

I married a really good man.

Daddy with his Lost Boy, Christian.

Daddy and his New Year's date, Sunshine.

Daddy with his future firefighter, Gabe.