This is my husband.
Quietly sitting on the morning after Thanksgiving. In the midst of a post-holiday hosting mess. Surrounded by an over-tired, over-stimulated, and over-active preschooler. Next to a wife who is already at her breaking point before the clock has even struck noon.
But he is the quiet calm in the chaos.
Sitting here delicately and deliberately gluing back together the tiny pieces of a broken soldier. Taking every single shard of plastic and expertly putting it back together—just right. His head, and his heart, have fully committed to making this better. Making sure there are no broken pieces left behind.
To me, it wasn’t just a decoration. It wasn’t something I picked up at a random Target run. It was a piece of my childhood that survived a move I never thought I would. A small piece of the holidays that reminds me of my first home. A home I hope to recreate for our own family filled with more memories and love than I can measure.
But you see, this is what he does. Not just on holidays. Not just for decorations or wine glasses or our daughters’ toys.
He is constantly sitting behind the scenes, gluing everything back together.
Making all the broken pieces of our home and hearts come back together the way they should be.
The irony of the moment is certainly not lost on me. As a stay-at-home mom, I have often found myself referring to our home as a battle zone. You know the scene. It’s the end of the day and there is destruction and defeat filling the air. It feels like no matter how much you did right, everything somehow went so wrong. Another day, another battle lost.
And then he comes in and glues his broken soldier back together. Piece by piece.
It doesn’t always look the same. Every day is a different battle. But he glues it back together regardless.
Sometimes it looks like quietly coming in and whisking away a screaming preschooler without hesitation. Sometimes it’s picking up takeout without complaint. Sometimes it’s making the first pot of coffee or playing the princess game 32 times while Mom showers alone. Sometimes, it’s getting out the crazy glue and gluing back together the broken pieces of a childhood memory.
Every day he finds a way to glue our broken pieces.
Some days are more successful than others. Some days I stand in my own way, and inevitably his. But he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t call it quits when the glue won’t stick. He keeps at it. Piece by piece. Day by day.
That’s what my husband does. And I am so unbelievably grateful for it.