My husband. I love that man.
He doesn’t complain too much when I drift over to his side of the bed within 15 minutes of us falling asleep and drape myself across him spider-monkey style, leaving him with nothing but a minuscule sliver of personal sleeping space on the far left side of the bed and absolutely no air or blood circulation whatsoever. And then stay there. All night. Breathing hot air on him. When our bedroom is already nearly 80 degrees. He hasn’t shoved me to the floor, yet. Though I’m certain he’s considered it. Multiple times a night. That’s love.
Sometimes, between suspiciously inquiring about the spiciness of my dinner intentions to make sure I didn’t add something as ludicrous as hot sauce or, God forbid, red pepper flakes to our meals, requesting homemade pie for dessert nearly every single night with a hopeful, childish look on his face, and ragging on the lavender fabric softener I use when doing laundry, he hugs me tight and thanks me for making such wonderful dinners, for cleaning the house, for doing the laundry, for packing lunches every day, and for all I do around our home in addition to working. And I thank him for working 257 hours in February so that we can live in this house that I so hopelessly fell in love with one warm October afternoon.
Occasionally, when we’re both crammed into our one tiny little bathroom, huddled around our one tiny little pedestal sink, trying to get ready for bed and brush our teeth at the same time without elbowing the crap out of each other or falling backwards into the shower, he’ll take stock of our life together and mutter, completely bewildered: “This is so weird. Ted doesn’t get married! How am I married!?” Except, apparently, he does get married. Despite the fact that he never thought he would. He doesn’t mean it in a negative or regretful way. He just says it with such awe and amusement, with a halo of stars circling his head as he tries to comprehend how on Earth this came to be. Kind of like the coyote after the roadrunner drops an anvil on his head. It’s pretty cute.
Every now and then, on an exceedingly rare Saturday when I have to go to work and he doesn’t, instead of sleeping til 11 a.m. and scarfing cereal straight from the box and planting himself firmly on the couch for a marathon of boxing or racing or “end of the world” movies, he’ll take the trash out, or pay the bills, or turn the clocks back, or organize the basement, or surprise me and print our wedding photos and add them to picture frames around the house when I haven’t had time to do it. I’d certainly understand if he opted instead to laze around the house and do nothing but enjoy his time alone, but it’s sweet of him to do it all because he knows it would be helpful.
Yesterday he came home from work and took one look at the totally awesome royal blue flowered ankle-strap sandals I’d dug out of my summer clothing storage in celebration of the lovely spring weather and proclaimed that they, along with my favorite white flower headband, were, and I quote, “floofy and hideous.” I think they’re both quite stylish and charming. I promised I’d wear them more often. Together. At CCM and in public. You’re welcome, honey.
I love to obsessively pick up any miscellaneous, what I deem “clutter” I see lying randomly about the house and put it away, this includes Ted’s coasters, Ted’s wallet, keys, phone and glasses, Ted’s slippers, Ted’s sweatshirt, and usually anything and everything else of Ted’s that he doesn’t want me to move because he put it there for a reason. I also may or may not have accidentally cut the roots off the bamboo plants Ted handpicked for our wedding when I was changing their water. In my defense, I really didn’t mean to! In turn he likes to eat all the stalks of string cheese out of the refrigerator by the handful and plop completely random crap like frozen garlic bread, chocolate coated marshmallow Easter bunnies, green grapes, shelled peanuts, and herring in wine sauce into the grocery cart when he’s hungry and I’m not looking thus tripling our grocery bill and thwarting my attempts to feed us healthy at least 97.5% of the time . Sometimes you just gotta annoy the hell out of each other, you know? It keeps the romance fresh.
And every now and then he makes some of his crazy noises and laughs when I try to imitate them. Or tells a funny joke or sprouts useless facts and knowledge. Or lovingly smiles at me. Or squeezes my hand during church. Or shares the couch blankets with me when he knows I’m cold. Or comes home from work unexpectedly early and makes my entire day so much better.
I love that man.
