I have seen him every single day since our second date. Which is more than two weeks now. There is nothing glamorous about dating a single mom and yet he's more than content to hang out with us each evening, just talking about our days over dinner together. He has included Flash in his planning, consideration and actions since the start - a trait rare in someone without children of his own. He's happy just staying in and watching a movie, but he'll take me out to dinner, or make plans to go dancing as well.
He has stepped gingerly around my need for independence, while maintaining his need to help and provide. (He snowblowed my driveway and then sheepishly came into my kitchen waiting to be scolded.)
He is quiet and reserved, funny and very kind. He is open and vulnerable with me, withholding no secrets, but letting go of past remorse as well. We've been down similar roads - had our share of the not-so-greats and are both cautious and nervous about what we have found together.
He is careful with me, and I with him.
We talk about everything and nothing, but not about the road ahead. Tomorrow brings what tomorrow brings. Making plans for the weekend is as far as we will discuss. There is some feeling, however unspoken, that this is different. There is a hope, there is a guarded optimism, there is something there that hasn't been. If brought to a vulnerable moment, however unintentionally, he will simply say, "I'm just so glad I went to the pub that night." Me too. He is real and genuine and normal. His life is as simple and down-to-earth as mine. His goals and dreams are realistic and honorable.
And so I will see him again. For dinner, here tomorrow. He will come in the back door and will help where I will let him and will sit and listen when I won't. He will laugh about the drama of our days and laugh at Flash and his antics. He will pray with us over dinner and will be the first to clear dishes when it is done. He will sit with me in his arms for an hour or so afterwards, enjoing the quiet, enjoying Flash, feeling at peace.
He will leave before either of us want him to, but he works so early it is greedy to keep him late. He will text me when he is home safely, just a few miles up the road, and again a few minutes later to wish me goodnight.
If I think too hard about it all, I am terrified. But laying back against his shoulder on the couch after dinner, laughing at Flash and Eli and my crazy little family, I feel nothing but peace.
He brings me nothing but peace.
He has stepped gingerly around my need for independence, while maintaining his need to help and provide. (He snowblowed my driveway and then sheepishly came into my kitchen waiting to be scolded.)
He is quiet and reserved, funny and very kind. He is open and vulnerable with me, withholding no secrets, but letting go of past remorse as well. We've been down similar roads - had our share of the not-so-greats and are both cautious and nervous about what we have found together.
He is careful with me, and I with him.
We talk about everything and nothing, but not about the road ahead. Tomorrow brings what tomorrow brings. Making plans for the weekend is as far as we will discuss. There is some feeling, however unspoken, that this is different. There is a hope, there is a guarded optimism, there is something there that hasn't been. If brought to a vulnerable moment, however unintentionally, he will simply say, "I'm just so glad I went to the pub that night." Me too. He is real and genuine and normal. His life is as simple and down-to-earth as mine. His goals and dreams are realistic and honorable.
And so I will see him again. For dinner, here tomorrow. He will come in the back door and will help where I will let him and will sit and listen when I won't. He will laugh about the drama of our days and laugh at Flash and his antics. He will pray with us over dinner and will be the first to clear dishes when it is done. He will sit with me in his arms for an hour or so afterwards, enjoing the quiet, enjoying Flash, feeling at peace.
He will leave before either of us want him to, but he works so early it is greedy to keep him late. He will text me when he is home safely, just a few miles up the road, and again a few minutes later to wish me goodnight.
If I think too hard about it all, I am terrified. But laying back against his shoulder on the couch after dinner, laughing at Flash and Eli and my crazy little family, I feel nothing but peace.
He brings me nothing but peace.
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