Mrs. Ditchman has not had a full night's sleep since before we were married, six and a half years ago. I know this for a fact, since we've not been apart more than a month's time, total, in all those collected nights. I treasure them.

I don't think it's what she agreed to, when she said yes to me seven years ago today on the edge of that Grand Canyon, both literal and otherwise. For that matter, I'm not sure I knew what I was asking. If we knew then what we know now, would she still have said yes? Would I still have asked?

And the answer is a resounding Yes. For all those sleepless nights are the price you pay for those full days -that full life, brimming with the joy that only such precious, dedicated, familial camaraderie can bring. Our cup overflows. It's how we asked the angels to fill it, (hoped they would, anyway.) Later that night it snowed, and some would say, expectedly so. She thought we were going camping in it, and she still said yes! It was a cold, wet snow, but the sun came out the next morning. And I was quietly prepared for bad weather: I'd reserved the best room in the lodge.

She was itching to get out to exercise this morning, even though she's sick, and after being up all night. At 5:30AM she was holding the baby in the dark, in the hall, and I got up because I couldn't stand the thought of her standing out there any longer. When she saw me, she turned her back to me so I could see the kid, and she asked in a whisper if I could see whether the Little Digger's eyes were closed. They were, finally, and she exhaled. A few hours later she was angling for the front door for her workout, but she stopped, and then encouraged me to get my run in first. She knows it's important to me, which is what made me move fast to get back home, so she could get out there, too. For me, the day was a mess, but she managed to get groceries. She knows just what thing will occupy the children for the ten minutes she needs to make that business call. She let me complain about every useless thing, and responded by asking if I needed my laundry done. She made dinner. She did the dishes. She looked good. She bathed one kid and I bathed the other. She fell asleep on the couch towards the end of House, but she woke up and leaned over and puckered up to kiss me before she went off to bed tonight. When she does that, it doesn't matter what happened, or didn't, today. Everything's going to be fine tomorrow.

Somehow, seven years back, I made the right call.

And I'm taking credit for it. I own all the love I have for her, but it's hers for the taking at any given moment.




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