The Rhythm of Home

Twenty years of marriage, raising four kids, and realizing home feels different when your person is gone.

Twenty years of marriage will do something to you.

Tomorrow, June 3, 2026, marks twenty years for Karen and me. Twenty years married. Twenty years together. Almost twenty-six years together total. And somehow, after all this time, we still do not like being apart.

As I am writing this, Karen has been gone since Saturday taking Sophie to Universal Studios for her eleventh birthday. When Brighton turned eleven, Karen took him and surprised him with a Hogwarts letter welcoming him to school. Chloe got her turn a few years later with me, and now it was Sophie’s turn.

That’s kind of how we’ve always tried to parent. We’d rather build memories than just amass more stuff.

While one parent goes, the other one stays home and keeps the wheels turning for the rest of the crew.

And contrary to every sitcom husband stereotype ever created, the house did not burn down while Mama was away.

Because Karen and I are not amateurs.

The rhythm was different, sure. But not less steady. Things still have to keep going. Kids still need to eat. Laundry still has to be folded and put away. We still have to go to church. Work and school continue. Life still goes on.

Marriage is not 50/50 anyway.

Sometimes it’s 60/40.
Sometimes it’s 80/20.
And on bad days, it may be 20/80.

Healthy marriages are not built on keeping score. They’re built on both people trying to make the other person’s life a little easier.

Twenty years in, that’s probably the simplest marriage advice I know.

As I spent the week holding down the fort while Karen and Sophie were at Universal, I found myself thinking a lot about what twenty years of marriage actually looks like.

Monday night, the kids requested Daddy’s BTY burgers. That stands for Better Than Yours, which sounds arrogant until you eat one. Brighton even invited a friend over for supper, which I honestly loved. Growing up, our house was always open to friends. My Mama made our home feel safe and comfortable, and I want our kids’ friends to feel the same way about ours.

Every night before bed, Karen and Sophie would video call us. The kids looked forward to it every single evening.

Honestly, so did I.

I think that’s what I missed first. Bedtime.

Not because I cannot survive on my own but because that’s usually when Karen and I talk about the day. We talk about tomorrow. We decompress a little. We laugh. We solve problems. We sit in the quiet after the chaos.

And when your favorite person is not there, you notice it.

The house had a different rhythm all week.

Not bad.
Not broken.
Just different.

One thing I realized pretty quickly was that I needed to be a little less Daddy and a little more Mama while she was gone.

Not softer exactly. Just more intentional.

When frustrations got high, I found myself thinking, “How would Karen respond to this?” Because she usually balances me well, and without her there, I had to be more mindful about how I handled situations.

I think that matters.

Our kids are always watching us.

They’re learning how husbands talk about their wives when they are not in the room.
They’re learning whether marriage looks miserable or meaningful.
They’re learning if love becomes colder or deeper over time.

And I want them to know without a shadow of a doubt that their Mama and Daddy genuinely love each other and genuinely like each other.

That part matters, too.

Today, I took half a day off work so I could get things ready before Karen got home. I cleaned the kitchen, vacuumed the floors, changed the bed linens, straightened the house, made sure there were no dirty clothes, and tried to make home feel restful again before she walked through the door.

Because nobody wants to come home exhausted from traveling and immediately step into chores and responsibilities.

You try to anticipate each other’s needs after this many years.

If I have had a rough day, Karen will cook my favorite meal or tell the kids to give me a little space to decompress.

When she is stressed, I try to take things off her plate before she even asks.

You learn each other.

Or at least you should.

Guys, you cannot wait around for your wife to hold up a flashing neon sign that says SOMETHING IS WRONG. At least in my experience, you better learn the cues.

Karen and I are wired differently, but we both work hard to make life lighter for the other person.

And honestly, I think that is what keeps a house steady.

Not perfection.
Not grand romantic gestures.
Just two people carrying the load together.

When I picked Karen and Sophie up at the airport today, I noticed something immediately.

I had a little more pep in my step.
My smile was brighter. The air was better.
My world felt right again.

Like a piece of the puzzle had come back home.

Twenty years later, I still look for her in a crowd.

I still want to tell her about the funny thing that happened during the day.

I still sleep better when she’s on her side of the bed.

And when she walks through the door, home feels like home again.

That’s a pretty good gift after twenty years.