Most of my Valentine's Day this year was spent curled up in the living room with a heating pad, my iPhone, the television remote and my laptop. Sidelined by my uterus. The fixings for our annual candlelit dinner remained in the freezer and pantry. Gift-getting - my annual perfume fix - was put on hold due to our continued unemployment. Still, my honey and I enjoyed simply inhabiting the same space, content in the knowledge that we've had 26 of these specific February days shared between us. And God willin' and the creek don't rise, we'll add 27 next year! At one point during my forced stillness, I perused the random photo collections on my Dell. Most of the pictures were taken in 2010. With a few camera downloads from times where I needed the disc space and was away from home and away from the Mac.
I discovered the following:
There they are. My family. My nuclear clan of kids and spouse. This ranks as my all-time favorite Christmas photo. For a period of years after we moved to Tennessee, we'd all dress up, digging out clothes that would loosely match and quickly iron them, hastily arrange our hair, ensure the makeup was right, and then I would grab a neighbor for a rapid photo session somewhere in our yard or house. The session itself never lasted more than probably 15 minutes. Whatever the results, we picked a pose and THAT shot went in with the 80+ holiday cards I painstakingly signed, addressed and mailed to relatives and friends. Three years have come and gone since last we acted out this little holiday play. My sending of cards has been sporadic, sparse and often tardy. Two of my three children now live outside the Volunteer State. Come June, the third in my trio of offspring will uproot and replant in her own place with her very own husband. And that will leave yours truly. AND the handsome hunk in the red shirt.
So let's talk about him. Because I wanna.
Because most of the time I'm around him, I wanna kiss him somewhere on his sweet mug.
Because he could care less about the exhilaration of leaping into a pool of freezing water in below-freezing temperatures with his fellow Murfreesboroans to celebrate the new year . . . but he made the jump anyway -- for me, because I cared. (And, like the chip off the old block that he sometimes is, so did his son!)
Because whenever the opportunity arises to hold a baby or small child, he takes it and makes it a memorable moment for the wee one, himself and those looking on.
Because he constantly declares, "I'm not very good at the guitar." But he IS good. Good in the way a guy who doesn't spend all of his time plucking the strings but possesses natural talent and a love for the instrument is good. Practicing whenever he can carve out a session: his twangy notes filling the house despite the soundproof material nailed to the walls of his small studio. His personality rounding out the music like the presence of a solid bass-line.
Because his grown children wanna kiss him, too. That's pretty darned telling . . .
Because I married an athlete/musician and he ain't a bad boy.
Because even when I resembled Tweety Bird for a time (and shaved my head in a previous necessary hair adventure), my beauty never escaped his eyes.
Because the man can sleep almost anywhere. And looks kissably cute doing it.
Because the man likes to SAY he's not a pet person but if you interviewed any of our past or present domesticated animals, THEY would quite disagree with his personal assessment!
Because he loves his mama.
Because he waited patiently through 20 years of marriage for me to start drinking coffee with him.
Because he wore THAT apron one Thanksgiving!!!
Because for every momentous occasion in my adulthood, he figures in each of them, front and center.
Because my grandma thinks he's a sweet man and a good husband and father.
Because he still throws a mean football . . .
. . . and passed that skill on to his boy.
Because whenever he kisses me, I still feel JUST like I look here. And I've felt that way since our very first kiss back in 1980-something-or-another.
Love this, so much!
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