I can’t wait to get into bed with my husband at night. No, really. I cannot wait.

Yeah, nooky is good, but it’s more than that. He is my sanctuary. He is my peace and quiet after a long, chaotic day. He does for me what a bubble bath with a glass of champagne would do for me. If I wasn’t too tired to take a bath, and if I still drank champagne. He’s the one who takes over when I can’t deal with domestic challenges. He’s the one who made panini for dinner tonight (with grilled peppers, carrots, onions and gouda cheese). He’s the one who makes dinner most of the time, and cooks all the meals on the weekend.

I have been known to dial out for pizza on a Friday or Sunday evening, but mostly, it’s Hockey God who takes care of us. Works full-time, works overtime. He knows how to wire. Plant a winter garden. Clean out the gutters. He built a castle bed for our princess daughter, complete with turret and dungeon. He can change tires and change the oil and play the saxophone, the piano, the guitar. I like his singing voice — it’s low and strong. I like the songs he writes. I like when he’s willing to play for the preschool set.

Today he volunteered at school, played guitar and sang songs with Wacky Boy’s class — they had a singalong with the third-graders. You think third-graders would be too, you know, sophisticated for “Gloop, Gloop Went the Little Green Frog” and “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Bat,” but you would be wrong. The third-graders go goofy for a singalong with the pre-k’s.

Every single night my husband puts the kids to bed. Bedtime is not my favorite time to spend with my children. My lovely, precious children, who I am so ready to hand over to their dadd-o when night falls. Sometimes we stay up and watch movies, but mostly the four- and seven-year-old in the house go to bed between 7-8 p.m. I write, my husband and I meet up again later. Maybe he writes for awhile, or watches a hockey game. Maybe we watch Jeopardy, just like the old folks at home, and the Simpsons. We read, watch movies, make out. Eat all the ice cream and lie about it later to the kids.

Mainly, when nighttime arrives I just want to get under the covers, curl up on his chest, drift off.

He is my tranquillity. I’m thinking of the Kim family a lot today, as I’m sure many of you are, too. They were lost here in Oregon, my home state. I can say something like, James Kim is at peace now. And thank God his wife, Kati Kim, and their two daughters are okay. Thank God for nursing, because we nursing mamas, we’re always saying, “I can’t believe I’m keeping my baby alive with my milk,” but this? She kept her daughters alive for the nine days they were stranded. This is so amazing and mind-blowing that I can only think about it for twenty seconds, maybe thirty, and then I’m in tears. So I will move along. Good job, Wacky Mama.

I cannot imagine what Mrs. James Kim, Kati, is going through right now. I send her and her daughters my good thoughts, my prayers, my love. I would like to tell her, it won’t ever stop hurting. But someday it won’t hurt as much. I hope that is true for you.

We took the Coast Starlight train to L.A. once. (Mis-named, really — only some of the trip is along the coast. But it’s worth it, if you’re into train travel. Wacky Mommy recommends the family sleeper and not coach.) Looooooong ride. Was supposed to be a thirty-hour trip, I think. Took 35. Took forever. But that’s the thing about train travel — getting there is sometimes the best part of the trip. We broke down in the Siskiyous — the Eastern side, by Klamath Falls, not the Western side, toward Grants Pass, where the Kims were stranded.

It was spectacular. I was pregnant with our son. Wacky Girl had had a hard evening but finally passed out in our laps, sprawled sideways. The moon was full. It was midnight. The trees were huge, snow-covered, eerie in the moonlight. We were on the second tier of the train — it felt like we were floating in air. It was romantic. I was content, being alone with my husband and our babies. It was Christmas time. All that snow. All that light, from the moon. I remember thinking, briefly, that I would freak if we were broken down there for a long time and couldn’t get out. Then I flipped that thought right out of my mind because it scared me too much.

I don’t know what I would do without the sanctuary, the peace, the love that is my partner. To think of someone going through this loss, especially someone with two sweet little kids, who have to go through it, too… It is too much. I know what it’s like to be a kid without a father. It is the worst kind of awful. Peace to them.

When am I getting to my Thursday Thirteen, you ask? How about right now?

Thirteen Songs That Make Me Think of My Husband

1. The baroque processional they played at our wedding when I walked down the aisle (no, not Pachelbel’s Canon. Not the Wedding March. I have no idea what it was called and Hockey God doesn’t, either)

2. The Weight (the Band)

3. Brilliant Corners (Thelonius Monk)

4. Angel from Montgomery (John Prine)

5. Buckets of Rain (“…little red wagon/ little red bike/ I ain’t no monkey but I know what I like/ I like the way you love me strong and slow…/”) (Bob Dylan)

6. Coyote (“…There’s no comprehending/ Just how close to the bone & the skin & the eyes and the lips you can get…/”) (Joni Mitchell)

7. Al Fin Te Vi/Finally I Saw You (Cachao)

8. Anything by Iowa City folksinger Dave Moore

9. Better Git It In Your Soul (Charles Mingus)

10. Watermelon Man (Poncho Sanchez)

11. Do Re Mi (both Woody Guthrie and Nanci Griffith’s versions)

12. The Way You Look Tonight

13. Listen Here (Poncho Sanchez)