Love Note

My last entry was the post that broke the master's back. He kidded me about it, but deep down, I think his feelings were hurt. But C'mon? Dishwashing gloves and rug tape? How could I pass that up? He says that I paint him to be a ignorant, neanderthal, sexist pig. Out of the seven people who read this blog, five of you know him personally, so you know that nothing could be farther from the truth! That is what makes it funny. I do poke fun at him on this blog. Too much. I tell him it is payback for all the times I've been used as a sermon illustration (which is more times than I can count). At least he doesn't have to smile and hug your neck as you exit the blog.

I promised him that my next post would be a love note. I don't think he believed me, but here it is. Read quick, because chances are he will beg me to take it down as soon as he finds it.

Five reasons I love my husband:

1. The way he loves children. Not just our children--and he loves them a whole lot. But kids, in general, flock to him. Case in point, I went up to the warehouse one day last week when the kids were with Nana. The first sound I heard was a little girl's bubbly giggle. I followed the sound, knowing it would take me to my husband. Sure enough, I found him. A coworker's granddaughter--down for a visit and stuck at the office for the day--had drawn him into some silly game. She was having a marvelous time, and truth be told, so was he, though he claimed "he hadn't got any work done because of that pesky kid."
When we were dating, we went with his church group one weekend to lead an outreach event at an inner city, HUD housing complex. I remember watching him play with a group of 20-25 kids in a wild and woolly round of chase. When they finally brought him down and dog piled him with their snotty, sweaty, stinky bodies I thought, "Yep, that is the man for me."
2. The second is closely related, but not the same. Alot of guys can play with kids and be the "fun" parent, but not so many pitch in when it comes to the nitty gritty. What I'm talking about here is domestic support. Women ask me all the time, "How do you manage with five?" The answer is, "I don't!" We manage with five. When he is here, we are equal partners in parenting and household work. The mom of my daycare kid tells me, "Oh, my husband hasn't changed a diaper yet. He doesn't know how." And then she laughs, as if that is something to be proud of?! Randy vomits? I bathe the baby and he mops the mess and changes the sheets, or I change the sheets and he bathes the baby. Company is expected to arrive in 30 minutes? I finish putting supper on the table and he scrubs the toilettes. Out of groceries and I have a meeting? He goes shopping (though not for daycare supplies--HE, HE!). It doesn't matter if we need milk...or tampons...or Monistat 7. He's out of clean underwear? He gathers a load and puts it on to wash. My point is that there are few, if any, "Woman's Work" jobs in this house. And these are not rare instances when he decides to lend a hand--it is the way our home functions day in, day out. I know I take it for granted. When I was trying to get a MOPS group started in our old home town, I kept planning meetings for the evenings and the women would say, "I can't come because I don't have childcare," or "let me ask my husband if he can babysit the kids." You're married, but you don't have childcare? Ask your husband if he will babysit? I don't know how many times my friend Cari had to slap me up side the head saying, "But, Jessica, your husband is different." She was right. He is, and I'm SO thankful.
3. I love the fact that he knows everyone by name--the mail-lady, the guy at the hardware store, the drunk that hangs out at the gas station--but only ever calls me "babe."
4. I love the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. I love that he smiles often.
5. Did you ever play the word association game in school? The teacher would call out a word or phrase and you had to write down the first thing you thought of? Whenever I hear the word 'righteous,' I think about my husband. I love that.

There you have it. For as long as it lasts. And not a trace of sarcasm.