. . . . . . my work day is done.  invoices, meetings and e-mails,  all left behind and the wheels of business never stop in my mind.  i crawl into my  car and  quickly take a minute to breathe and slowly forget about the work day.  and i start for the dance of the traffic ballet. stop and go, weaving in between slower moving cars.  and as i turn down the neighborhoods street, i  slow,  as i approach the driveway, welcome home.  our house stands as our castle.  hunters green wood slat siding , with stone tan shutters,  cream wood trim and cobblestone foundation  and  dark wooden stained fence outlines the backyard.   every time i see it,  i am proud.  in the front yard,  there you are playing with our son,  and he’s got that big wiffle ball bat in hand,  and our daughter is in the side yard,  jumping on her trampoline with her friend,  and the dog jumps up on the fence,  and leans his front paws up on the top rail,  looking over at me,  giving me a bark hello.  as i pull in the drive,  you stand up straight with our son in arm and wave me hello.  and as you smile,  i smile.  and a glitch of happiness starts to erase the stress,  and i park.  grabbing my briefcase and suit jacket,  i quickly climb out of the car and as i shut the door i hear our son cry out for me.  turning to him  i crouch down and reach out my arms as he starts running towards me, i set my case down and pick him up.  big and loving hug, all within.  (this is why).  as he continues to hug me tight,  i turn to yell out a hello to our daughter as she continues to bounce up and down, somersaulting in between bounces.  i meet you in the middle of our front yard and your smile becomes a kiss hello,  hug me love.  (this is why).  as we head in,  i loosen my tie and continue holding my son, who now has his head on my shoulder,  and with the other arm, my wife grabs my hand and lays her head gently on my other shoulder.  we open the door,  and it begins the evening.  i set my son down gently and he runs towards his blocks,  still scattered among the parlour floors rug.  you tell me to relax and go take a long hot shower.  and like so many times before, she can read the work stress on my face.  she knows me.  and i know her.  this is why. // i start up the stairs,  like i do everyday after work and start unbuttoning my shirt, and prepare for the relaxing hot steamy shower that awaits.  i slide open the showers door and i get in.   washing off the workday grime and dirtiness of the stress, i lean in and put my head under the gentle flow of the shower head and i stay there for a good short while,  slowly, easing of the days pressures and stresses.  invoices, meeting and e-mails.  slowly washing away,  away, all with the water, running down the drain.  after i shut off the water,  i grab my towel and dry off.  relaxed and feeling clean,  i change into my comfortable evening attire of pajama bottoms and my  cincinnati reds t-shirt.  (this is why). //   i start my decent downstairs and i smell the dinner that awaits. there in family room,  sitting there, is my wife and children with delivered pizza and bread sticks.  our son in his high chair, painting his face with strained peas,  missing his mouth eight out of ten times and our daughter snuggled in the e-z chair texting.  but still manages to say hello to me, without looking away from the glowing screen of her phone.  as i look at the delicious pizza,  you tell me that you ordered it before i got home and hope that i didnt mind.  i quickly respond, “not at all.”  and i sit next to you, and we turn on  the t.v.  and while we eat, we watch something mindless to entertain us all.  relaxing with the family, together, and this is why.  as we clean up after dinner,  paper plates in the recycling bin, glasses in the sink,  our sons face, once again,  reappears.  releasing him to continue to play with his toys,  our daughter runs up to her room as if her daily family time quota has been filled,  and now has to retreat to her four wall parent-free zone.  i retreat, myself,  back to couch and turn to the home improvement channel and i kick my feet up on coffee table.  getting some weekend projects going through my head, i imagine what i can do.  and as i jot some ideas, you walk in and sit next to me.  gently you scratch my back, as you tell me which of the project you like, and the ones you have created yourself.  your scratching has become more of a massage. relaxing, releasing the tension in my back, and you make me feel so good.  (this is why).  and as we sit and watch and relax,  my son turns and comes up to my leg and i pick him up and hold him closely, tightly,  a father and sons love.  (this is why!).  our daughter comes halfway down the stairs and tell us that she’s going to bed,  good night and she loves us.  (this is why).   my son,  in my arms,  has fallen asleep.  slowly we get up and we head upstairs to put the little one up to his crib.  as we change his diaper and clothing, we turn on his soft lullaby music and turn on the night-light lamp,  where it softly glows around his teddy bear collection and up onto the ceiling.  i lean in on the crib and watch my son sleep.  and i just watching him sleep, makes me speechless.  i am proud.  his gentle breathing,  my son,  a deep sleeper.  an angel in our house,  this is my son,  and this is why.   we ourselves head to the bedroom and get ready for bed.  there,  in our bed,  you continue to read your Hemingway book,  as i start to think about the upcoming weekend projects brewing up in my head.  with all indoor lights off,  silently,  the home sleeps.  activity halted,  waiting for the dawn of a new day.  the circle of life.  and it all starts over again.  new day, new challenges. new plans,  new ideas.  meetings,  screaming,  e-mails and invoices forgotten by time im at home.  working to live,  and never living to work.  this is why!. . . . . . . 


c. 2013 BGW

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