We had a minor disaster on the home front yesterday. I had set the coffee carafe to soak in a sinkful of soapy water, partly because it needed to be washed (how many months?) and partly because DH had run the sink to soak another bowl, and it was, well, there. A bit later DH decided to scrub the pot, a very generous impulse, especially as he doesn't drink coffee so the grunge in the pot was all mine. Shouting coming from the direction of the kitchen is never a good thing, and yesterday it was his spontaneous eruption resulting when the pot slipped from his hands, shattering the lip of the pot and punching a large hole in the side, then poking a good-sized wound in his hand. Not a slice, fortunately. He probably bounced it against the broken lip of the pot.
We got the bleeding stopped and the wound cared for, then DH began encouraging me to get a new coffee pot. But I am not really interested in a new pot. This one is scarcely more than 15 years old, and works fine. I just need to find a new carafe that fits, and I told him I would make the coffee directly into my cup in the meantime. That shouldn't be too hard; I only make one cup at a time.
This morning I came upstairs to find this:
DH had dug through the cupboard and found my largest mug, then placed it on the warmer in the coffee maker. Wasn't that thoughtful? After I expressed my delight and he went off to work I started thinking about the languages of love. Actions speak the loudest to me - words are too easy to say and not really mean anything, or in fact can misrepresent the truth. I have assumed for many years that actions are most important to DH, too, but this morning I realized that there is something I can do for him that speaks even more loudly: express my appreciation for his actions. He lights up whenever I do that. I can't believe it took me this long to notice.