This past weekend was a mixed bag. Parts of it were wonderful: we went out to a mouth-watering pizza place with another couple; we went to the ballet for the first time (which I loved and Henry was indifferent towards); we enjoyed the cooler weather (and yes, 90 degrees counts as "cooler" when you live in Texas); we walked through eclectic thrift stores; we attended a class about joining a local Unitarian Universalist church... the list goes on.
But parts of it were less than wonderful, mostly due to my emotional instability. What can I say? Sometimes my emotions feel beyond my control. I find myself becoming upset and on the brink of tears for no apparent reason. I know I am getting frustrated over silly things, but somehow knowing that logically I shouldn't feel the way I do does not stem the tide of my emotions. Unfortunately, the person who suffers the most from my inexplicable mood swings is usually my husband.
This morning I woke up to find that Henry had done two things: put away the dry dishes in the sink and the clothes strewn on top of his dresser. Were there still clothes (both mine and his) on the bedroom (and living room) floor? Yes. Was the kitchen still a complete disaster from our cookie baking adventure the evening before? Yes. Even so, those two small acts meant a lot to me. I don't need him to be a perfect housekeeper--it's no secret that I'm not--but when he does those small things without me asking? Melts my heart.
It really is all about the little things, isn't it?