Will you waltz with me?

J was headed out the door this morning, running a few minutes behind. I handed him breakfast and lunch to-go, while he grabbed his briefcase.

He'd all ready bid the kids farewell and filled them with hugs and kisses to last until his return.

Two steps out the door, about to shut it behind him, and Miss H runs to the door and says, "Papa, will you waltz with me? Just one dance before you leave?"

J, hands full, came back inside, put everything down, and waltzed with his tiny daughter.

I've been told I'm "lucky" to have such a great husband. That my children are "lucky" to have such a calm, involved, doting father.

But luck has nothing to do with it. I married this man because I knew how wonderful he was. I refused to settle for "good enough."

Good enough has never been a choice I've made; I'm too type-A for that. I strive for the best.

And I got that in both my husband and the father of my children when I found J.

He is the best.

My best.

The kids' best.

Our best.

He was running late today. But H asked for a dance. And he stopped the world, revolving on it's axis, for 60 seconds and danced with her. Because he knows what's more important.

And he's the best.