Next month I will have been married to my husband for fourteen years. Fourteen years is long enough for me to have passed through an entire decade with him, which means my husband got all of my thirties; not my most stellar years but much improved on my twenties.
Fourteen years is long enough to give birth to a 6 pound 8 ounce baby boy who now is almost as tall as his mama and closing in on her weight; a child who has already been through diapers, elementary school, basketball teams, three houses, at least $5000 dollars worth of Christmases and has finally grown into his head.
Fourteen years is long enough to accumulate almost 16 new photo albums.
I’m impressed every year when we add another 365 days to our repertoire because I never knew I could be with anyone besides my kids that long.
In fourteen years we have had our share of SOME DAYS, MOST DAYS and THOSE DAYS; it’s knowing the difference that’s the important part.
On SOME DAYS I think if I hear his “pony for Christmas” joke one more time I will rip my hair out and I’m pretty much short on the hair supply already. Some days when Donovan was a baby and the husband slept through the 2 a.m. feeding I wanted to smother him with a pillow and let him sleep peacefully, real peacefully, like for the rest of his life peacefully.
Some days I think that if he tells me one more time which way to go or where to park I will kick him repeatedly in the shins and I will like it.
Some days I think if he keeps putting the toilet paper roll on backwards, moving the rug over twelve inches to the left, or tying up the curtains in the way I hate I will disappear when I go out to get the mail and never come back.
Some Days monogamy sounds so stupid that I wonder what idiot made it up and why did we all decide to play along.
But then there are MOST DAYS and they happen more often. Most days are easy companionable sweet and loving.
On most days he does things like check the air in my tires or scrape the paint on the porch; he gets me tomatoes for the garden and plants a butterfly bush.
Most days he spends time with our son; he camps with him and teaches him how to do a hook shot. I think my heart will burst and break to pieces in my chest I am so happy to see him being a dad to our boy and loving his stepson as his own.
Most days, we run together, we play basketball and he makes me a better person. On weekends we laugh and drink beers on the porch; we spend Saturdays side by side on the soccer sidelines and more than once I’ve come home from a hard days work to a clean kitchen, folded laundry, a covered plate of good food in the fridge, and my bed with the cover turned down and book ready for me.
And then there are THOSE DAYS.
Those days your world stops on a dime.
Those days your Grandma passes away or you lose a friend; your dog dies or you get laid off; you find out you have cancer or your brother is getting divorced; your kids failing sixth grade and your college kid got busted for beer.
On those days only one person will do.
And if he’s good enough for those days well then he’s good enough for all the days we have in front of us.
Here’s to another decade of days with the one you love…..almost every day.
