She had hoped he’d walk into the kitchen, smell the Spritz Cookies baking in the oven, warmly greet the kids, and come up behind to wrap her in his arms and whisper, “Merry Christmas, honey.” Instead, he walked in, grabbed the vacuum and started bumping into their toes as he cleaned up flour dust and cookie sprinkles. “Daddy, aren’t the cookies pretty?” He took a few more swipes with the vacuum and said, “Yes, honey, now let’s start cleaning up this mess.”
She’d planned to stroll arm-in-arm, watching the snow fall, seeing the Christmas lights twinkle, and enter shops to jointly select Santa’s gifts for the kids. Instead, he told her that he was too busy and shopping was a wife’s job.
She decorated the tree with ornaments the kids had made, hung the stockings she’d sewn for each of them, and hand-colored the Christmas cards she’d planned to mail to their friends and family. He told her he’d already sent cards to his friends and family, and that she didn’t need to bother combining his list with her list.
She put lots of thought into the gift she would make for him – maybe a collage of photos from his childhood, or a shadow box full of keepsakes from his outdoor adventures. He let out a sigh of frustration when he asked, “So, what should I be getting you this year?”
He’d sit on the couch and watch TV while she read The Tub People’s Christmas. When the kids giggled over the arrival of Santa in the story, he asked if they’d keep it down so he could hear his show. Continue reading →