You know what's hard? Football. And I don't mean playing it. I'm sure carefully slamming into others so as to knock them down without permanent injury, throwing an oddly shaped object with just the right amount of torque and velocity, and coordinating movements of visually impaired giants with extra weights strapped on are all difficult. But that's not what's hard for me. It's what it takes from a person.

And again, I don't mean the energy and sweat it sucks out of the players and coaches. This is my blog, after all. And I don't play football. But my husband is a coach, so we're a football family. I'm very proud to say that J's so well equipped for that job that there's no doubt in my mind that it's his calling. He's a natural encourager, believes hard work produces results, esteems the role of positive relationships in the lives of those crazy, testosterone driven teenage boys. And of course he's good at football.

He's good at being Dad and my husband, too. We have such a unique family situation. With a teacher and a mom (who's always been a teacher before), we don't even know what it's like to not have June and July together, full time. And since our family has become more than just we two, J and I enjoy sharing household responsibilities and taking turns relaxing. Summers are somehow happily busy, and always together. And that's how we like it.

Which leads me back to why football is hard. We cruise merrily through the summer. Then mid-August hits us, and SMACK! He's gone 6:30am to 8:30pm. If we work hard, we can catch a 25 minute lunch with him, and if naptime goes well, he can join us for bedtime prayers and kisses at night. I know that's much more than wives whose husbands have highly demanding, high-powered jobs, or who work out of town for weeks or months at a time, and infinitely more than single moms. But it's not us, which is why it's hard.

This year, week one was (to be melodromatic) miserable. I mostly felt tired and sorry for myself. The upside for the girls was lots of TV time, lots of pizza, and lots of toys in lots of places. The downside (other than no Daddy silliness or bed jumping) was a strictly enforced naptime, some unique bottom-of-the-drawer, back-of-the-closet outfits, and boredom on a silver platter.

But then Pastor Bill talked a lot about joy in a sermon and it hit me pretty hard that I was being very backwards expecting my joy to come somehow from J or our marriage or family when really I was to grab the joy only Christ offers and then help infuse the family (and others) with a taste. So week two was better. For starters, we boosted our chocolate intake with a batch of chocolate chunk brownies. Then we got out of the house for some field trips, and we even cleaned and did some laundry (though it's still sitting unfolded in the big chair).

And now we'll get it together. We each have a calling. And none of us are called to a life of ease. So while J and the others sweat and shout and slam and stink, I'll remember the joy always at the ready and wash another load. Okay, and look forward to December.