There is a 12-inch compound miter saw in my living room.

With an eye to our springtime remodeling plans, my husband bought this piece of equipment, as well as the metal table it sits on, shortly after Christmas.

That evening, I naively helped him carry it into the house and set it up in the living room where he assured me it would remain “for only a day.”

In his defense, I must admit that he got a good deal on the saw and that we currently lack adequate storage for such a large item, but in my defense, I must point out that he said “only a day” and it has been much more than a day.

In fact, it has been many, many days and I am growing weary of vacuuming around the saw, retrieving toys from underneath it, and explaining its presence to visitors (it's hard to convince them it's an early Mother's Day gift.).

In my weaker moments, I recall our wedding day and I am certain that none of the vows I took that day make mention of power equipment in the living room. I suppose, however, that the saw is in those vows somewhere, perhaps falling under that sneaky, catch-all phrase “for better or for worse.”

I am continually surprised by the particulars that make up the “worse.” On the positive side, though, I am just as often surprised by the things that make up the “better.”

Before we were married, my husband and I promised each other that we would never become one of those unhappy married couples with which we were all too familiar.

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We were young; we envisioned a marital life filled with passionate moments, fresh-cut flowers, and candle-lit dinners.

We did our share of those things, but today, many years and quite a few children later, I no longer anticipate flowers and chocolates when my husband returns from work. I am delighted if he remembers the gallon of milk I asked him to bring home. Am I missing out? Am I deprived? I don't think so.

Over the years, my husband, who is a teacher, has gotten up before the sun and stayed up long past dark working a variety of different part-time and summer jobs to ensure that our family is always well provided for.

He has been a coach, a golf course groundskeeper, and a waiter. He has worked 14-hour days tearing apart old barns to salvage materials and build our home. His diligence and dedication to our family's welfare are a part of the “better” I never could have anticipated years ago.

There are other parts, too. I can find myself feeling particularly unfulfilled by my duties of squelching squabbles, wiping noses and cleaning up the eternal messes that are part of an active household.

On these days, when he calls home from work, my husband can tell by the sound of my voice that today would be a good day to bring home a pint of Ben & Jerry's “Super Fudge Chunk” and put the kids to bed early. His demonstrations of kindness and compassion during my moments of weakness are another unexpected part of the “better.”

As our relationship matures, I discover that marriage is filled with the unexpected. I never thought being a faithful wife would mean tolerating a power saw in my living room.

When we accommodate these unexpected trials, however, we make room for other surprises, more wonderful than we could have imagined.

This kind of marriage is not a romance of the typical hearts and flowers variety. It's better. It's the best Mother's Day gift of all.

Danielle Bean writes from Center Harbor, New Hampshire.