Do the little things together

When we first started living together, we didn’t have a dishwasher. So every evening, while we finished a bottle of wine, I washed the dishes and my wife dried. Sometimes we switched it up. Sometimes I did both. She did all the cooking, after all.

We would joke and talk about the day and drink and feel the light as it streamed in during the long summer evenings.

My wife said our friends divorced because they didn’t do the dishes together.

I wasn’t complaining, we were just chatting.

She said the little things matter more than the big things. That our friends didn’t share the little chores, and everyday, it built up, more and more, like grains of sand filling an hour glass. Eventually it became full. Eventually the hourglass was tipped over and he had an affair and they decided to separate.

The little things.

I turn this over now and again.

We have a dishwasher now. I load it each night and wash the sink and clean up the table. With 3 kids there’s plenty of little chores for us to do. No need to keep washing the dishes on that account.

Like a jazz record, our day winds down to the erractic beats of little feet thumping up and down the stairs, clinking plates, and giggles and cries. That’s the music of love. Of life. And we’re still together. So it must be decent tune. Some improv, a dash of soul, and a lot of little things.

Little things that matter so, so much.

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