When Did I Stop Caring?

Getting ready to pick my husband and his cousin up from the airport, I was about to throw on a t-shirt and jeans.  Something made me stop and reconsider my outfit.  Maybe I should put more thought into my presence.  After all, he had driven 2,000 miles to deliver our son’s car to his Air Force base in California.  He had then flown back to Wisconsin and was surely deserving more than a frumpy wife greeting.

“When did I stop caring?” was my next thought.  Because quite honestly, I can’t remember the last time I was concerned with the way I look for my husband.

Was it after I “landed” him and no longer had to try?

Was it after my body changed from having our first child?

Was it when I lost touch with who I am because of the three little ones under my feet?

Did it happen after a few years of aging?

Did “life” just get in the way of us?

T-shirt was replaced with a cute top, my comfy pants with capris and tennis shoes with adorable black wedges.  I even put on some jewelry, makeup and fixed my hair.  I was warmly greeted by my very tired, jetlagged husband.  No, he didn’t seem to notice the effort I had put into my look.  But it really wasn’t about that.  It was something much deeper.  A determination to care not just about the surface stuff but the deeper parts of marriage.

To not take my husband for granted.  To not forget we began this adventure with just the two of us, and once the kids are gone, it will again be just the two of us.  To take notice.  To make an effort.

To start caring.

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