I came home last night to quite a domestic situation . I think I navigated it well. Let's see what you think.

It involved Emily, the light of my life, apple of my eye, my 8 year old girl. Quite a   precocious child.Too precious for the world, yet.

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 Yesterday  I had been slaving at the Insurance Company, doing my underwriting.

(This means I check out people’s medical history & write recommendations for whatever policy they are thinking of getting. It’s routine work for me, a med school dropout who married his favorite fellow lady dropout,   Sarah.  She went on to become a hell of a nurse.That was her “calling”.)

( Til Emily…

 Sarah  is a  stay at homer now. I am delighted by this. Gotta admit,  I’m  a bit like my old dad, who said, “a woman should never have to work”.

 Have to, is the key. If she wants to, fine by me. But Emily is thriving under Sarah’s homeschooling. She’s got very few friends (sarah worries about this) but so what. I got maybe 3 real friends myself. She has her mom. And me. )

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Last night:I came in and put my briefcase in the corner. Everything in its place, and a place for everything. Because then you can find it when you need it. Practical.

Sarah gave me my welcome home hug and whispered in my ear: “you will never guess, never, what this girl of ours wants for Christmas.” Her voice recalibrated my head from insurance man to loving husband and father. Such a good wife, she is.

“What,” I said, peeling off my overcoat. I love wearing an overcoat. Makes me feel importan. I put it on a peg, and loosened my tie. Casual Dad, I was now.

“She wants to invite Jesus to Christmas dinner, babe,”  Sarah said as she fiddled with her sweat   pants, pulling the waist tighter. She took off her hoodie. We kept the place cool during the day, but when Daddy got home, we cranked up the heat, cuz Father does not like to do his thing in the cold.

I slouched on the couch to consider. “ Why?”

She joined me on the couch and I put my leg on top of hers. My heart opened. I kissed her, and looked into the clearest eyes in the world. She said, “Because she thinks he has nowhere to go .’’

I turned on the tv to cnn. Muted it. “Clock ticking to Government shutdown” it squealed. Some deadline. They loved their deadlines, these politicos.  I underwrite some of them. They lie even to us. Say they don’t smoke , say they got no conditions we should be aware of. I love proving some bigshot to be a damn poor risk and send my findings to the money people. I hope they screw em good.

“He’s got his mother’s. Mary’s. Tell her that.” I pulled off my tie and threw it at the tv , at Newt Gingrich.How old is he , anyway? He’s been around for 30 years.  He was being cornered by the Blessed Media on his stance on family values. That guy got very few. You’d think he would, the way he bullshits. Nope.

Sarah giggled a bit and lay her head on my shoulder. “No, honey, the whole Christ family is long dead, she says. Only Jesus left. That is why he is so lonely, get it?”

“ok, why not. Let’s send out an invitation. Mail it. To, who? I know the post office got mailboxes for Santy Claws, but how about Jesus? Make her write a nice invitation. That’ll keep her busy tomorrow. You can take her to the gym in the afternoon, and she can sit there while u do your pilates, which you don’t need anyway.” Love talk.

“My pilates are none of yer bizness. I do them for me, so shut the fuck up,” she murmured. Grabbed my hair and pulled. “Emily should  write it, you’re right. We’ll do that tomorrow. I was planning math, but you can maybe do that when  you get home tomorrow, right?”

“Sure.”

“Good.”

We snuggled on the couch as the house warmed up. The tv was saying Iraq is the biggest foreign policy disaster ever. I dunno. Vietnam still seems on top to me.

“Sweetie, “ I whispered, “What if he accepts the invitation & shows up?”

She was almost asleep. The tv glowed like a woodstove. Emily was working on some math upstairs. Soon she’d be down soon for supper, her favorite, homemade pizza, which Sarah is expert at. I could smell it cooking. Over pizza we’d discuss the Jesus thing.

Sarah said, “bigger turkey?”

I said, “What if Emily gets Christianized? By Jesus?”

She giggled her last conscious giggle as she fell asleep for a bit sprawled all over me, where a wife should be.  “oh…then…you’ll handle it, baby”

The house was quiet. Warm.