I had sat in a very crowded secretary of state office for over two hours, when my number was finally called. It took roughly 1.5 minutes to transfer my registration over to a different vehicle, all I had been there to do.
I had been at my college for nearly three hours, scurrying from one office to the next, meeting with one person after the next. Finishing weeks worth of an enrollment process in a day.
I had been at my son’s new school for nearly an hour, plus a twenty minute trip back home to grab additional verification that the child was not some fictitious figment of my imagination, despite him standing right next to me the entire time. After much paperwork, I finished his registration process.
Finally, I dragged myself back home, like a flat tire. Deflated.
I walked through my bedroom door, dropping my much too heavy purse, laptop bag, and childrens overly stuffed ‘keep them occupied’ bag onto the floor near where my husband was sitting. With a gentle laugh he said, “Let me see your wrist.” Without much, if any, enthusiasm I complied, holding my arm out before him.
My husband wrapped something around my wrist, pushing the ends together until it fit comfortably. I looked down and saw that it was a spring that he makes at work. A spring that he had crafted into a bracelet, for me. I glanced back up into my husbands eyes as a soft, warm smile spread across his face and the stress of my day melted away.
In that moment, those moments, is when I know with certainty that I have found my warrior.
It is in the moments that he watches the kids, keeping them quietly entertained so that I may nap, knowing that I hadn’t slept the night before. The moments when I am heaving up my digestive system, and he is there to hold my hair back and run to the store to buy my much coveted bottle of ginger-ale, seemingly at the same time.
It is in the moments that he sees an elderly lady struggling with her shopping cart on the curb and he drops my hand, to go and help her. It is walking to our warm parked car on a cold November night and he doesn’t drape his coat around my shivering shoulders, but gives it to the homeless man that is laying on the sidewalk, freezing.
It is when I am weak, falling to my knees, and he is there to lift me up. It is when I am strong, charging ahead on a concrete path to my future, and he is standing behind me, cheering me on. It is when he holds my hand tenderly as he is standing by my side, letting me know, that we are in this together, for the rest of our lives.
He doesn’t slay three headed beasts for me. He never fought dragons, rescuing me from an infinitely high tower. He never came riding in on a glistening white horse.
But, those things are not what makes a mere man, a warrior.
At least not in my fairy tale!