My man.

Isaiah and I went to have the coat of pollen washed from my car yesterday. When they called for my car to be retrieved, I put some cash in Isaiah's hand and closed his fingers around it. "Here. Give this money to the man who gives Mommy her keys back."

Over we walk and this big, muscular gentleman smiles and says, "How are you, ma'am? Do things look okay?"

And I chuckle back and reply, "Anything involving water on this car is an upgrade. Trust me."

And this pleasant man nodded, put my keys in my hand and pulled open the door for me.

"Excuse me, sir."

That big man swung around when he heard a little person's voice. Isaiah extended his hand and handed the cash to him. His young eyes were flitting from side to side, perhaps a bit afraid of this Paul Bunyan-like fellow and his soiled t-shirt. Then he glanced at me and then stared exaggeratedly into that man's eyes. "This is your tip. Thank you."

And that man seemed to appreciate the whole thing. "I like that. He looks a man in the eye."

"And a woman, too," I teased. "His daddy drills that into his brother and him."

Isaiah looked a bit embarrassed. But he shouldn't have been.

Early this morning, I stood over a laundry basket. It was out in the hallway instead of empty next to the washer and dryer and, okay, I'll admit that this is where it had been for two days straight. Hunched over it, I sifted through little shirts and shorts and ninja underwear in search of matching pairs of socks for school. It wasn't going fast enough, so I plopped down and sat cross-legged on the floor.

Yup.

Then, from where I was sitting, I could see straight through my bedroom door to the edge of our bathroom. A simple morning ritual was taking place. Two boys standing side by side. One with a face perched upward while one firm, adult hand holds it steady by the chin as the other sure, paternal hand carefully cleans every trace of sleep from it with a warm wash cloth. I studied the muscles in his forearms, flexing as he explored crusty nostrils and dusty ears. The other brother waits silently; he knows the drill. In preparation for his turn in the assembly line, he clumsily brushes his hair in forward strokes.

"Like this, Dad?"

"Forward on top. Backward on the back. Just like that."

"Okay, Dad."

"My man."

Still, like always, those strong hands come behind those little ones. Rebrushing. Regrooming.

"Fix your pocket, son."

"Yes, Dad."

"There you go." Then an uber-manly hand slap. The tenth one that morning. "My man." 

I get so lost in watching, it startles me when I hear my name.

"Mommy, do we have socks ready?"

I shake my head and come to. I dig vigorously some more and finally come up with two pairs. "Here you go."

Socks and shoes. Cereal, coats, backpacks. And in between there are discussions going on between father and sons which are mundane but perfect. Peppered with these things I hear every single day in my home like:

"Son, put your eyes on me when you talk. Look people in the eye, son. You understand me?"

or

"Who is 'yeah?' We don't answer Mommy or anyone with 'yeah.' You got that?"

"Yes."

"My man." 


Today I saw and heard all of this, these things that are part of the daily fabric of our morning life. And as ordinary as it was, something about it felt extraordinary. All I could think was, "This father who is loving on these children and showing them how to be men is my husband. And he loves me as much as I love him."  Then, being the mushball that I am, I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying at that thought because I know this isn't promised and that planets don't always align like this. Not like this, where a good man falls in love with you, marries you, has children with you and then loves all of you with sustained intensity without giving up.

It happens, but not always. It doesn't.

Shoe shine with Daddy

Note: Harry had on sneakers that day and is only wearing shoes for the shine. . Now, you already know the BHE wouldn't be caught in gym socks and dress shoes!

So yeah. Right now, my little boy's eyes might jump nervously when speaking to a new person, but eventually they won't. And he will go somewhere caring about how he is groomed and he'll be speaking up so that his voice can be heard.

And me, I'll be somewhere watching just like this morning and knowing the love that went into getting those boys there. And still feeling unbelievably fortunate to have attracted this extraordinary human being as my life's partner.

My man.

***

When you say, "My man," it's this version. This is how the BHE says it--Denzel style.