Why we do what we do.

"Daddy, are you going to work?" Grace watches, her body still, as Scott rushes around from the shower to the hamper to the sink to the closet, a blur of activity that indicates he is getting a late start.

"Yes, honey; I have to go to work today." He sighs and looks at me. "Can I wear these pants with these shoes?"

"Black shoes would be better." I am wrestling with Natalie, trying to give her Motrin before she has a seizure from the pain of a giant molar bursting through her swollen gums.

"But we are going to music class today." Grace looks at Natalie. "Do her teeth hurt? I want Mommy. Mommy, I want to nurse." (side note: Oh, man, music is going to be great today. I can picture it now: Miss Kindel trying to entice the girls to pick up an instrument or dance and both of them stuck like glue to me, and I hobble around with two girls on my hips, pretending that I am dancing. This must be the reason they call it attachment parenting. Every parenting choice has its tradeoffs, I guess.)

Daddy steps in to help: "Grace, come help me pick out some new shoes." Even running late (probably because he let me sleep in after a tough teething night), unable to do fun things with his daughters and wife, he is a saint. "But DON'T step on them--really, don't. These are nice shoes. My work shoes."

"Daddy, come to music class with us!" Grace is standing on Scott's feet, holding onto his legs as though hugging a tree.

Scott peels her off and sets her down next to him in the closet. "Honey, I would love to go to music with you. You tell Miss Kindel hi for me. But I need to go to work. You see, I have to pay Miss Kindel for your class. That's one of the reasons I have to go."

"And pay our mortgage," I add. "And buy us food. And netflix."

"Grace, get OFF of my shoes. They are expensive. I also work to pay for these shoes, you know." I am now walking down the hallway away from them, preparing to change the poopiest diaper in all of human history when I faintly hear Grace ask, "Pay for your work shoes?" I imagine the smile breaking out over Scott's face as he says, "Yes, I work to pay for the shoes that I in turn wear to work...does any of this make sense to you?"

I walk back in the room in time to see Scott holding Grace up for a kiss and I say, "If it makes you feel any better, you also work to afford taking me to dinner tonight. And you can wear those shoes if you want."

Smiling over the heads of our children, enjoying them but also anticipating spending some much-needed time later without them, I remember how much I love my husband.