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the Hideous House Perspective

As soon as my husband got home tonight, I kissed him, held him close a moment, and then took off.

I took off to ride horses. Lacy, my dear friend, has been taking me riding for more than a decade now. Each time I'm atop a quarterhorse racing at a canter up a mountainside... it's on my top ten favorite feelings ever ever. I hadn't gone riding with her in at least 18 months, and OH IT WAS A JOYOUS TIME.

But a twinge of guilt settled in my gut as I was racing on a bay-brown gelding across a hillside dotted with sagebrush... because I had left a monstrous mound of dishes, a sloppy slope of laundry, and a frenzied flurry of toys at home.

After an evening of adventure, I drove home in the dark. I drove home to a spotless house, a sleeping baby, and a sleepy-eyed husband. That guilt came flooding back in. I apologized for the mess, I thanked him for cleaning it, I apologized again.

To which he replied:

"The dishes are from you feeding our family.
The clothes were washed and dried, you'd already done work on them.
And the toys were spread everywhere from you playing with our son.
Don't apologize. They're evidence that you're a good mom."

After which I may have melted.

Perspective, people. He teaches me about perspective ALL THE TIME. He very well could have been grouched-out by the hideous house and my hasty hiatus from its respective housework. But he saw what caused all the mess, and he loved instead.

I want to be like him when I grow up.

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