I think my husband walks on water. I know that’s ridiculous. No one is perfect. No one is capable of such things. And he really can’t.
He hogs the bathroom and stinks it up, seems to accumulate pens wherever we go, buys too many of one thing; 10 nightlights, 10 flashlights, 10 pairs of running shoes, 10 different kinds of earbuds, all tangled up and piled in drawers. He has the most ridiculous collection of t-shirts dating back to college, some with armpit stains that he refuses to throw away and they all pile up in the drawers and you can’t shut them. And when I try, sometimes I pinch my fingers in the drawers and say curse words.
God, I love that man.
He is just pure goodness. When I think about the winding road that led me to him (have I just quoted a country song? I might need to see a shrink), it absolutely throws me into a panic. One wrong turn, one wrong move, one wrong decision, and the two of us would never have met. A thought I just can’t bare.
Listen. We are not swinging from the chandeliers over here. Our lives aren’t like that. It’s simple. Sweet. Joyful. Watching TV on the couch, making dinners together, raising these two knuckleheads we call kids, laughing, singing, dancing, going on adventures. It’s a good life.
It’s moments like being at a Journey concert together. I look over at him, a huge smile on my face, because he’s singing at the top of his lungs with his eyes closed, “don’t stop believin,” like he’s the lead singer -and my heart leaps. Knowing him makes me believe that anything is possible. That life is good. That there is a grand plan. That I never want to be anywhere else, but right here in this life with him.