You just went to Costco and bought a laminator. It might be the most excited I’ve ever seen you. Seriously.
The other night, while I was working on a project in our room, you laminated a bunch of stuff for our kids. Worksheets, puzzles (worksheets that you turned into puzzles via the technology that is scissors), etc. You were getting some curriculum ready for ‘Grammie’s School’–what our boys call their time once a week over at Grammie’s house.
Then you posted something on Facebook about being way too excited.
It’s an awesome combo of cute and funny and sweet and kick-ass.
Thanks for making sure our boys have some solid school work to do–and for being so adorable about it.
I love when you call just to hear an adult voice. I might seem and act rattled, but I love it when you think of me and call in the middle of your day. I apologize if I seem taken aback or nervous that some craziness is happening with the kids or maybe a raccoon got into the garage or you found ants in the pantry.
I need to remember that you need some adult conversation where you’re not being demanded of or pulled or head-butted. It’s nice just to be heard and to speak and to have someone pierce the chaos with a bit of sanity.
Thanks for calling me and I’ll try to do better at calling you. I love to hear your voice. It’s quite a sweet one.
We’ve been stuck in horrible traffic for about an hour driving to our nephew’s birthday party. The drive is always rough enough.
But you were particularly funny discussing your thoughts about how the GDOT should consult you on the construction schedule.
Love how you make me laugh.
We had our daughter’s pre-k open house last night.
You put together the perfect meal: egg and cheese on wheat sandwiches when I got home from work with the promise of popcorn post-open house. You made the idea of listening to our daughter’s teachers and then coming home and watching a couple shows with some popcorn (and maybe a few M&Ms) sound like the most wonderful thing in the world.
And it kinda was.
You’ve pointed out to me before that I’m not as good of a communicater as I made myself out to be. This will sound strange, but most of my communication takes place inside my head. I take on my role and the other role and play out how I think a conversation might go.
Apparently, that’s not really communicating. I’m working on it. Hopefully by the time you read this, I’ll be awesome.
You deserve a husband who listens and allows you to tell me what you think vs. having me assume. You also need to know that what you say and feel are important and I can’t help with that unless I actually listen and hear you.
I’ll do better. I’m working on it.
This isn’t the appropriate forum for spilling too many guts. I’m not sure how private it truly is and how anonymous I am.
Let’s just say this: In the few years we’ve been married, I’ve not always been the best husband. I’ve done my best to serve you and be available to you and to be responsive to you. I’ve tried to help out w/ the kids, give you a break when I could and do some nice things for you when I was able to time-wise and financially.
That said, you and I both know that I’ve had some failings–some ways I’ve not been as good to you as I should have. These things come up every once in a while.
I have excuses, but they don’t really matter. Still, I love you. I need you. I want to become better at being your husband. I want to learn to be a better dad. I want to understand best how to be a friend to you. How to listen to you, how to help you when you need helping, how to laugh with you when you need that, how to encourage you.
I just want you to know–regardless of any of my issues or anything–that you are ABSOLUTELY SPECIAL AND BEAUTIFUL AND WONDERFUL AND GIFTED. I’m a very, very lucky man–blessed man. Never ever confuse anything I ever say or do with how beautiful and wonderful and loved you are. I got tons more to say, but at this point, you’d rather me get my bottom in my car and get home to relieve you from kid duty.
I know it’s been a rough couple days. I love you.
I walked into my office to the red light on my phone. It’s later on a Friday afternoon and often this means a pre-weekend crisis.
To my enjoyment, it was you. You butt dialed me. And it was perfect timing to grant me a smile for the rest of the day.
You were having the cutest little conversation with one of our boys (3 days away from turning 3). You were showing him his brother’s name and asking him what it said until he eventually blurted it out. Both of you were giggling, laughing, and generally merry.
I love how good you are with our children. Earlier, you were passionately concerned about communication with our daughter’s teacher (only to get an email from the teacher 45 minutes later). You are on top of her education. With our boys, you’re figuring out ways to teach them what they might be learning in school if we could afford to send them.
You want to give them what they need and so much more. The butt dial reminded me of that.