My man. I love him. No one makes me laugh harder or roll my eyes more.
Especially giggle/eye-roll worthy is his tendency to break into song. We might be having a serious conversation about gun control (about which we very seriously disagree) and then it’s over because he’s singing, “Everybody run! The homecoming queen’s got a gun.”
Really. If he is in a good mood, he can’t, it’s not possible, for him to get through a conversation without singing. Commercials, jingles, show tunes, TV theme songs, whatevs – if it pops in his head, it’s coming out his mouth – doesn’t even matter if he knows the words. He just makes up words to match the situation. He’ll sing “finish your homework” lyrics to the tune of a Charmin commercial.
He loves. I mean LOVES. To sing billboards to me. Does that even make sense to you? Me neither.
Look at what a great dad he is. Fits him like a glove. Which is good because it’s difficult to find anything that fits him. He’s 6’9″. You try shopping for that.
Really though. He is such a great dad. He teaches our kids that smart is the best sexy, that a man can be silly and soft-spoken and still be all man. He plays, “game face” with our oldest, Joey. When Joey was five, and they first invented the game, Joey said to me, “Mom, you’d better leave the room. You are NOT going to want to see this.” It was your basic, no-rules, wrestling match. They would square off and yell, “game face!” and it was game on. “Happy face” was code for “take your corner.”
The very best thing about him, the reason I love him the very most? He likes me. He really likes me.
Once, I asked him if he wished I were more like his mom. He said, “You’re exactly like her in all of the ways that matter to me and you’re exactly like you in all the other ways. I like YOU.” Good answer – right? He lets me chase my bliss. Not every man gives that to their girl. “Oh. What? Adoption? Foster Parenting? Start a business? Go back to school again? Buy a new house? Sure. Sounds great – let’s do those things.” I give my man whiplash and he keeps coming back for more. He keeps being married to me. Every. Day. It’s a big deal.
He is my air. Every day, we contract and expand, separate and come together – he, an extension of me I couldn’t do without. He is taken for granted mostly, like a favorite thing, like comfort food or a threadbare t-shirt. But every once in a while, I step back and realize … I breathe, fly because of my man.
I was such a fool when I married him. I just loved him. I didn’t know a thing about what really mattered. I do now. But I’ll bet 19 years from now, I’ll call this version of myself a fool too. He’d better keep being married to me every one of those days until then – if he knows what’s good for me.
Plus, those legs! Have you ever seen longer legs?