My eyes glance toward the clock on the microwave as I hastily finish up dinner. My husband will be home soon. He works hard, his hours are longer than most. We eat dinner later than most families, and I want it to be ready when he walks in the door, and in the end, it is.
But he doesn’t care.
And I’m thankful.
You see, dinner is on the table, but it’s not much. My meal plan had escaped me and it’s just meat and a vegetable. No salad, no side, I didn’t even have beverages at the table.
But he doesn’t care.
As a matter of fact, I’ve had to move all kinds of stuff around on the dining room table just to squeeze our plates and silverware on it. In my busy work-full-time-from-home life, the dining room table has become a “catchall.” I’ve not gotten around to putting things in their place today…or even this week.
But he doesn’t care.
As I watch him enjoying his meal and teasing our kids while we all eat, I realize there is a WHOLE DARN LOT that my husband simply doesn’t give a rip about.
