We sat down to dinner last night at a new buffet place my husband wanted to try. After the variating rounds with each our children, one after the next, with clumsy arms, pointy fingers and not-so-inside voices proclaiming their favorites, my husband and I finally were able to prepare a tasty plate for ourselves, and finally plopped our seemingly tired butts on the brand new, starchy chairs.

In looking up from my feast of diet-ruining food, I saw an older couple wandering a bit in the restaurant. Their eyes darted about while the women clutched her bag like she was walking on the streets of New York City, awaiting a mugger. It was then I became startled by a very southern male calling out “Mama!” to this wayward couple, who suddenly looked more at ease, the woman’s shoulders dropped considerably, the man’s face unscrunched and broke a smile.

I turned to meet the man who surprised me and saw a uniform, same as the one my husband wears everyday. The older couple appeared to be this soldiers parents, who by this point were hugging and kissing each other like she was the best thing she’d ever laid her eyes on. Before I began to subscribe to the thought that they were reuniting here in this restaurant, I overheard another party say something about that morning together.

You could see in his parent’s eyes the pride they had in their son, his family. I think that entire table looked at that man as though he walked on water. It became apparent to me, this man must’ve been one of the troops who had come back from Iraq recently, the way his family fawned all over him, servant-like, adoring every word, hanging on every move like a picture on a nail. It was beautiful to see this family together, after what must’ve been a hard spent time apart, you could see every bit of love in their sappy eyes. Made me want to openly cry right there, over my Sesame chicken.

I looked back at my plate, mocking me for making me cheat on my diet, mocking me for not really wanting to come here and spend money when I could cook at home but doing it because my husband felt like devouring Chinese. I felt angry at myself for having secretly been upset by letting hubby convince me on eating here when I should be just grateful he’s stateside and safe, just as this family sitting beside me, because their protector and loved one is safe and home again, in their arms, just as mine is. I swallowed my sumptuous chicken and my bitter discontent and renewed my gratefulness for my husband and all his courageous brothers-in-arms protecting my right to sit there, in that freshly opened restaurant, ruining my diet, and witnessing another family’s happy ending.

Lisa Douglas is a military wife and mother to six who loves baking and cooking from scratch, crafts, knitting, sewing, and all things homemade, all while trying to stay a wee bit sane. She can be found blogging seeking refuge regularly at Crazy Adventures in Parenting <http://www.crazyadventuresinparenting.com> , named one of Nielson’s Power Mom 50 <http://www.nielsen-online.com/emc/powermoms/Power_Mom_Pack_05_09.ppt> !