Last night Sam and I got to go see the play "Oliver."
Sam enjoyed the book Oliver Twist, and an old roommate of mine was performing in the play,
so she got us tickets and we had a lovely time.
When I was in college, a mid-week date was a marker that a relationship was beginning to get "serious."
I guess the two of us are pretty serious by now.
We got a new dishwasher a couple of months ago.
But last week it randomly stopped working.
I called the rental agency about it, but they've yet to come fix it.
Strange as it may be, I haven't minded too much...
when Sam and I work together on the dishes after the kids are in bed
(I wash, he rinses),
it gives us a few minutes of quiet to visit and catch up.
We laugh at the Dr. Seuss-like towers he makes as he stacks the dishes on the counter to dry.
I hear about his day at work and he hears about my day with the kids.
I occasionally splash him with water, taunting him to retaliate.
And all too soon, the dishes are done and we tend to our separate responsibilities.
There is something strangely therapeutic about a sink full of warm water and bubbles.
That being said, I won't be upset to have the dishwasher fixed. :)