Drop That Spatula

By Mandy Houk

There is no more lovely, friendly and charming relationship, communion or company than a good marriage.

~Martin Luther

It had become our routine and it wasn't a good one.

Pete came through the door at about five o'clock each evening, right in the middle of my preparations for supper. Relief at the sound of his arrival washed over me. Our two young daughters were filthy from a day in our backyard sandbox and needed a good soak in the tub.

So Pete stopped in the kitchen just long enough to drop off his lunchbox, and I — never breaking my spatula's rhythm — offered him my cheek for a kiss.

Then, up the stairs he trudged, our girls whirling around behind him, chattering happily. And I exhaled into my long moment of peace, with only my spatula to tend to.

Throughout supper, our damp, fresh-smelling daughters continued their chatter as Pete and I managed a word or two to each other in between, and perhaps a wink or a smile.

By bedtime (and by that I mean our bedtime) we were spent. We'd drop off to sleep, then wake the next day and do it all over again.

Our girls were happy and healthy, well-fed and shiny. But our marriage was malnourished and dull.

I'd had enough of our dreary routine. I'd had enough of viewing Pete as my backup, the other half of our two-person tag team. He was my partner in life and love, not just my partner in chores and child-rearing. It was time to do things differently, and I decided it would start with me.

One fateful day around five o'clock, when I heard the lovely sound of the front door and footsteps, I let the spatula clatter into the pan of whatever-was-sizzling and turned to greet my husband.

Nothing I did was earth-shattering. I grinned, said hello, and opened my arms for a hug. But the earth must have moved for Pete because his face lit up in a wide smile, his eyes sparkling.

I'm not sure if I burned dinner that night, what with my diverted attention and inactive spatula. I don't recall whether the girls got bathed or if they went to bed sandy.

I do know that Pete and I talked and laughed that night. I know that I felt younger, happier, and even prettier. I know (he told me) that Pete felt appreciated, even honored, because for those few moments he was my first priority.

And I know that for every evening since then that I have remembered my resolution to drop that spatula, our marriage has been the better for it, and our daughters have, too. Sand and all.

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