Rolled Sleeves

If you lived in my head, you would know that I am not a very nice person. If I had to identify my 'root sin', it would be pride. I often have a running dialogue in my head, and I have to admit that as soon as something goes off course -- little stuff, not real emergencies -- I think "how could this be happening to ME??!?!?". Entitled, much? And since I live with him, these feelings turn to Dave on occasion.

One such occasion was earlier this afternoon. I was sorting dirty clothes, and I noticed once again that Dave had forgotten to unroll the sleeves of several of his dress shirts. "GAH!" I thought. "I managed to nag him into checking his pockets for Kleenex when we first got married. WHY can't he remember this?!?"

And then it hit me. The first thing Dave does when he arrives at home (after taking off his coat and boots; we do live in Canada) is roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt so that he can pitch in with the kids. It's more than a metaphor. He literally rolls up his sleeves. And when he changes, he hurriedly puts the shirt in the hamper so that he can put on something more conducive to playing with the kids.

Dave is such an amazing father and partner. I don't thank him for it enough. So thanks, baby. I will gladly unroll your sleeves if that means that I get to spend my life with you.