(I apologize if I get mushy here, folks, but I can’t in good conscience go another day without letting everyone know how awesome he is. And no, he didn’t take over my blog and post this himself, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried someday. Ha!)
|Being a good dad, posing with Goofy|
My husband is kind-of like my backbone; I wouldn’t be upright, functional, or working properly without him. He’s the one that’s given me a voice when I couldn’t find one, the one whose picked me up and lifted me when I wasn’t able to myself. He holds my hair when I barf, and picks up tampons when I need ’em. I mean, he’s a real Prince Charming, except I kind-of envision him as the dude from Chuck in Tangled instead, in a “Here comes the smoulder,” kind-of way – funny but heroic. He’s not just my partner in life, he IS my life.
I remember sitting at lunch at Disney with Katja, and we both gushed on and on about our love for our husbands, how we’re going to be old bitties being chased by our husbands with canes and walkers (and vice versa), bouncing around the conversation how they are so supportive of what we do, only helping push us to succeed. And because he wants me to do so well, he’s readily gives up his own free time for me to be able to accomplish things, like time-crunched deadlines, blog conferences and brand trips, as well as appointments and conference calls.
He gives up golf time for me, man. That’s kind-of amazing, no?
When we tried, without fail, in putting together our new
razzafrackin’ elliptical the other night, he packed it all up, and with both babies in tow, yesterday, he drove the hour back to the store to get a replacement for me. That’s love, man. While I picked up the kids from school, he saw to it that we got a replacement that worked this time. It’s those acts of awesome, y’know?
Like how he has taken over making dinner more times than I can remember, and yet, it’s kind-of hot to see him get his hands dirty in flour, hip-deep in making a
mess something from scratch, or getting passionate about a sauce he’s created, or a cake he’s baked for someone, seeing how proud he is despite him thinking it’s the Frankenstein of birthday cakes. I think back to a time when I first met him and boxed dinners with water and sauce packets were his expertise. My heart flutters to see how far he’s come, how much he just rolls up his sleeves, this big, protective soldier, to get into the nitty-gritty of parenting and such right along with me. There he is, down on the ground, letting his toddler daughter do pretend “hair-dos” on him, or endlessly playing trucks with our Baby Dude, or jumping around on the trampoline with the older ones. Or changing dirty diapers. Dude, dirty diapers? He’s my savior, man. He is simply the glue that keeps us all together.
|Being a dork in Disney with me|
I can’t wait to move to San Antonio and see him finish college there (he is 16 credits away from his degree in Business Administration with a concentration in Marketing). We want to continue to travel all parts of the US together with our big family in the minivan. (Yes, more ass-numbing travel FTW!) Currently, we’re actually in talks about buying our first house in San Antonio, and I couldn’t be more excited to see him so excited about it. Like a kid in a candy store.
We’re that couple people roll their eyes at.
We’re that couple our kids get embarrassed about because we get smoochy-smoochy and huggy-kissy.
And, like I said earlier, he’s gonna be chasing my ass down beyond when I’m old and gray and toothless.
But as long as he’s by my side, I’m more than okay, I’m freakin’ fantastic.
That is, so long as I don’t put together any furniture or fitness equipment and ask him “Is it in yet?” because, apparently, it’s against some man-law to ever say those words to your husband. Whoops!
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