The other day, as I took our wet laundry from the washer to transfer to the dryer, I noticed a white something peeking out from one of the husband's dark shirts that had just been washed. I pulled it out, and sure enough, it was one of his undershirts.
I had let one get by me.
It is part of my routine to pull out Preston's underclothing from his pants and shirts as I sort clothes to be put away or laundered. When we first got married I did not know to look for these hidden clothes and often accidentally washed his light clothing with our darks. Now I almost instinctively reach for those hiding undergarments.
I'll admit that sometimes I still get so frustrated by extra, unnecessary jobs like this. I find myself thinking, 'Honestly, how hard is it to separate clothing once removed?' or 'How difficult is it to take the dish with you when you stand up?' As newlyweds in our tiny apartment, we'd walk around the kitchen in circles, he in front, opening cupboards to retrieve an item, and me in back, shutting them after he moved on, huffing and puffing in exaggerated annoyance. It was, in truth, a bit laughable. I began to call these little habits "Signs of Preston"--things that reminded me that he was here, with me, whole and well. ({
This} unnerving experience last year served as a great motivator to be grateful for this man of mine.)
However, for the most part, I am over these frustrations.
You see, I found my "go-to." You know, that one thing you
know will express love? Yep: It's as simple as pulling out those white shirts.
By common stereotype, men can just buy flowers. Women don't have it so easy. I tried hidden notes, surprise picnics, creative gifts. Once, I bought Preston a plant. I complained to him that girls can't just up and go to the store to buy men flowers for a quick "I love you," and he returned my moaning with a
why not. So I got him a plant. And I ended up watering it and watching it die.
One day, after a particularly exhausting work load, Preston walked in the door, kicked off his shoes, dropped his bag on the floor, and slumped on the couch, propping his feet up with a sigh. After hanging up his bag and putting away his shoes I sat next to him and asked about his day. He began to tell me about work but then stopped, grabbing my hand and looking me in the eye. "Thank you," he said, "for everything you do for me." Surprised by his turn, I just looked at him. He began to list off the things he was grateful for: my putting away his shoes and bag, my doing the laundry, my closing his cupboard doors, my making the bed, my patience with his idiosyncrasies, my cooking dinner, my washing the dishes.
That's when I realized that I had my go-to. All of my huffing and puffing around the kitchen tying up loose ends was accomplishing exactly what I had been seeking: to show my husband how much I truly loved him.
And now whenever I find myself tempted to roll my eyes at an abandoned cereal bowl or an open cupboard, I remember that taking care of those things is much easier than buying flowers. Really, it's win-win--I love an orderly house and my husband deserves to feel loved. And by every morning pulling out that white undershirt stuck beneath its counterpart, I am accomplishing both.
Thanks for being so lovable, husband.
~K
DISCLAIMER: I do need to clarify that Preston is actually a very clean fellow and a pretty tidy one, too. Also, he likes grocery shopping, which I hate, so he is allotted at least 5 pieces of strewn clothing for every shopping trip he takes in my stead.
