julierichmond

Sheldon’s working tonight; I haven’t seen him since he dropped me off for work at 745 this morning.

A few minutes ago, I went downstairs to our bedroom to check on Michael the cat and find some slippers.

He’d made the bed before he left; he filled up the humidifier and it looks like he attempted to do something about the nightmare of socks on the laundry table.

When he makes the bed, the blankets are even on both sides. The pillows are fluffed, the comforter is neatly folded at the end.

All the stray glasses are gone from the nightstand, my eyeglasses have been placed high on the dresser. (Jack ate my glasses a year ago, Shel still hasn’t recovered, and the replacement pair is very fancy.)

Our conversations revolve around how much he slept, (never enough, I remind him he should stop watching war movies at 2 am and the impact on his lifespan, only getting five hours of sleep,) the dogs- how long they walked, if Chanel lost her sweater, if they ate their breakfast. If it’s too cold for the dogs, or too warm.

We talk about our kids, a little. When Kate’s home, more so, but pretty much based on the dishes in the sink or her current demeanor, we smugly agree on how lovely she is or how long it will be until she recognizes that she is too old not to least soak her egg pan.

About Colin, we worry about his mood, we compare notes on how he looked on Facetime. Colin worries us both, and there isn’t a damn thing we can do, but we call him a lot and I send him pictures of Chanel.

Sheldon worries about me, when he’s working, what I’ll have for dinner, how I’ll manage the dogs by myself when it’s icy.

He never needs to ask me how much I slept, I’m always asleep long before him, and if I can’t sleep, I will share that. Repeatedly. I do not do well on less than eight hours.

It doesn’t sound like a lot.

We worry about each other; we listen to each other. (I’ve stopped doing wordle in the car on the way to work. It was hard to give up, but marriage is sacrifice.)

We’ve heard almost all of the stories, and we don’t like the same shows.

But my husband made the bed for this morning, because he knew that tonight, it would make me happy.

So, we’re good.

If you know him, maybe you could mention he should get more sleep.