We were standing in the kitchen, laundry halfway folded, dishes in the sink, the kids arguing in the background, when I looked at her and thought: we never do anything for us anymore.
I don’t know what made me say it out loud. Maybe it was the way she looked so tired, or the way the sunlight was coming in just right through the window. But I said:
“Let’s just go. Let’s take the kids and head out to Blue Sky this afternoon.”
She laughed.
“I have a million things to do.”
“I know,” I said. “Me too. But they’ll still be there tomorrow.”
So we packed up the kids, texted some friends we hadn’t seen in months, the kind of friends we always say we’ll get together with “soon,” and just went.
By the time we pulled into the vineyard, the weight was already starting to lift. The vines were glowing in the late afternoon sun. The music had just started, someone we didn’t know, playing acoustic and soft and beautiful. It didn’t matter who it was. It just… fit.
We found a table with a view, ordered a bottle of Seyval, and let the kids explore the grounds (they pretended it they were explorers, barefoot and giggling). We sat back, sipped slowly, and for the first time in what felt like months, we just talked. About nothing. About everything. About what we’ve been missing while stuck in the loop of work-kids-house-repeat.
Then She Took My Hand.
The music picked up a little, and she smiled at me, that smile I haven’t seen in a while, the one from before the dishes and the carpool lines and the late nights catching up on bills.
She reached out and said, “Come dance with me.”
So we did. Right there in the grass, under the open sky. The kids clapped and laughed. Our friends cheered. The whole thing felt effortless. Warm. Alive.
No Errands. No Timeline. Just Us.
We stayed through sunset. We stayed longer than we planned. We stayed because something about that afternoon made everything feel lighter… like we could handle Monday a little easier if we just held on to this for a bit.
And as we drove home, the kids asleep in the back, the sky turning purple, she reached over and grabbed my hand.
“I needed that,” she said.
“I know,” I told her. “Me too.”
Raise a Glass to the Woman Who Does It All
Look, the laundry can wait. The errands will still be there tomorrow. But if you’ve got someone in your life who shows up for everyone else, every single day, maybe today’s the day you show up for her.
Take her somewhere that makes time slow down. Somewhere with a view. With music that wraps around you. With space to just be together.
Take her to Blue Sky.
You don’t need a reason.
Just one afternoon.
Just one dance.
That’s all it takes.
Ready when you are.
