My husband is an impatient gift-giver. Always has been. But that’s okay, because I am too. I can’t stand having Christmas presents, or birthday presents, or Wednesday presents stashed away somewhere just waiting to be given. It drives me crazy. I’m not very good at keeping secrets, either. Don’t trust me with your deep, dark, tortured soul. You have been warned.
Having said all that, look what I found under my pillow last night:
This is what was inside:
A very yummy Wool/LLama blend, in a very chocolatey color:
And some insanely soft Alpaca in a beautiful earthy green:
Pretty nice, right? You betcha. But that’s not why I love him. I can’t even begin to tell you all the reasons why I do. Two of them (ages 5 and 7) are in the kitchen arguing (when they should be finishing their homework) and a third one (age 9) is in the living room building an electronic Morse code gizmo. It works, too!
We’re a happy little family now, but it was a long road getting here. My husband has put up with a lot over the years. And I’m truly, honestly, deeply grateful. Through the standard new marriage stuff – leaving home and having no family nearby, crummy apartments with crappy neighbors, more money issues than you can shake a stick at – we stood together. When we went through several miscarriages on our way to being parents, and I wasn’t capable of standing on my own, he held me up. When our oldest child was diagnosed with a chronic illness and very nearly died, we held each other close – but we held our son even closer. Even now, when I get frazzled by the small stuff on a daily basis, he is my calm spot in the center of this family storm. My greatest wish in life is that my children grow up to find someone to love, and be loved by, as much as their father and I love each other.
Oh, and Hubby likes to show off his hand-knit socks to total strangers. How sweet is that?
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