Ten: A letter to my husband

The wedding presents are giving out.  I’ve ruined two blenders now, and just a few weeks ago I noticed a huge crack in the food processor.  For Christmas, I asked for bath towels, plates, and silverware: the ones we got ten years ago are faded or chipped or reduced in numbers due to unfortunate interactions with the garbage disposal.

We looked at the wedding album this week, and, well, there’ve been some changes there, too.  Funny how we didn’t have these rings under our eyes or that padding around our waists ten years ago.  And while I did manage a baby book for each of the kids, I’m having a little trouble connecting my current throw-down-a-coffee-and-granola-bar-on-the-way-out-the-door system with the woman who spent all those hours carefully selecting and pasting photos in the candid album.

So we have outlasted the gifts, and our youthful figures, and our days of having energy and time simultaneously.  Yay?

Somehow this week, I ended up explaining to the kids what “cold feet” means, and they wanted to know if we had cold feet when we got married.  We both said “no.”  Were we nervous then?  Sure.  Since then, have there been innumerable moments of irritation or frustration or fear?  Of course there have.

But since the moment I agreed to marry you, I cannot recall a single time when I wished we’d chosen another path.  To stay with you, to keep the family you have given me, I would gladly pay a much higher price than the ruination of my pretty flatware (my fault, anyway) or my pre-baby body.  And you know what I was doing with all that free time?  Wishing for somebody to spend it with.

I was afraid people would look a little askance at my choice of “Count Your Blessings (Instead of Sheep)” as a wedding song; it’s not exactly common fare.  It was meaningful to me, though, and I’m so glad nobody objected.

When I’m worried, and I can’t sleep,
I count my blessings, instead of sheep,
And I fall asleep, counting my blessings.
When my bankroll is getting small,
I think of when I had none at all,
And I fall asleep, counting my blessings.
I think about a nursery, and I picture curly heads,
And one by one I count them as they slumber in their beds.
When I’m worried, and I can’t sleep, 
I count my blessings, instead of sheep,
And I fall asleep, counting my blessings.

 

Number one on that list, always and forever: you love me.  You are here, still with me, still laughing with me and sometimes at me a little bit, still working for me and with me, still being a wonderful dad, still ranting about what those fool Republicans have done now, still planning our future together.

Happy anniversary, sweetheart.

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About Grape

I've got the world's best kids and husband. Great house, steady job. I'm living the American dream. The trick is to appreciate it. I'm working on that part.
Aside | This entry was posted in Grape, Jellyman. Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Ten: A letter to my husband

  1. Erica says:

    You made me get a little teary eyed and I am not even married to Robin! I can’t believe it has been 10 years. Congrats- you are both such super awesome people! Love you! E

  2. Jill says:

    Happy Anniversary indeed.

  3. manneredgold says:

    Awwww. (And what a WONDERFUL song selection – how perfect!)

  4. Becki says:

    Happy (belated) anniversary. I feel that way about my husband, too, although he doesn’t rant about Republicans quite as strenuously as I would prefer.

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