I am expected to figure out what we are having for dinner. Dinner doesn't cook itself. I am expected to replace the kids' clothes when they outgrow their old ones. I am expected to keep our family in connections with friends so our hearts stay knit into the tapestry of fellowship. I am expected to stay on top of the kids' education (and design it, and manage it, and carry it out). I am expected to buzz the boys' heads when they start looking like feather-dusters, and trim Jubilee's bangs when they are hanging in her eyes. I am expected to notice when the kids' nails need clipping, and when their teeth need flossing, and when their ears have wax buildup, and when one of them feels like they're running a temp, or seems nervous, or afraid, or needs a talking-to.
In return, Daniel is expected to lead us spiritually. And handle the finances. And notice when a creaky hinge needs gun oil, or when the toilet is running incessantly, or when another piece of paperwork is due for the adoption or our visas or what-have-you. He is expected to study the local language, and work hard every day, and talk to folks back in the States about what we do. He is expected to carry heavy things, and give the kids special attention (or a good talking-to).
I am expected to kill the unnaturally huge roaches in our apartment, not just jump back and scream.
When you don't kill 'em, Daniel says, not in so many words,
they live to creep again. I will always kill the ones I see, but you will have to do the same. We are a team.
We are a good team.
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| I swear, I do have hair. Why is it so hard to find cute pics of just the two of us? |
