On Sweet Husband's 30th Birthday

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Today is Sweet Husband's 30th birthday.  For you folks keeping track at home, that means I've now known him basically for half of his life.  (Yup, we were babies when we got married.) 

I don't even think he knows this, but in addition to the bad list I keep in my head, there is a "good list" that I actually have written down.  It's not comprehensive, but from time to time I remember to scribble something onto it.  While I admit that I like the idea of my great-grandaughter stumbling across it someday, it's mostly just for me, counting my blessings in the present.

I couldn't think of a better way to mark the big birthday than with a few excerpts....

He's very, very funny.

In a dry, slightly inappropriate way that goes quite nicely with my tending-towards-gallows-public-defender-sense-of-humor.  The day we can't laugh with each other is hard for me to imagine.

He is a fucking amazing dad.

Pardon the language, but that's just how I have it written.  

I don't think guys should get extra credit for changing diapers and the like, but it's incredible to me how many fathers skirt the day-to-day grunge jobs of raising a child.  Or pretend to be so stupid about it all that their poor wives just give up and take over.  

So, while I certainly wouldn't tolerate any less, I love that we've never even had to talk about him being a truly equal partner in raising the Kid.  And watching the two of them play trains and read books together makes me want to have about 10 more.  

He looks all rakish in a pea coat and a knit cap.  He smells good.  He gets cuddly after having a few drinks.

Ahem.

Dishes.

It took us the first few years of marriage to figure it out, but these days we're almost like one person when it comes to keeping the house running.  It's not tit-for-tat.  He often does more cleaning, while I tend towards tidying and organizing.  I keep track of the bills, he takes out the trash.  I cook dinner, he does the dishes.  And some days one or the other of us throws in the towel completely, and the other has to pick up the slack.  But the point is that it feels like we're on the same team, not enemies each trying to outwit the other into doing more work.

He's cheerful about sometimes being pulled along for the ride for things that are more my dreams than his.

I want a flock of chickens.  I want to blog about that thing you just said, even though it's a little personal.  Let's have a picnic in the snow.

On the whole I like to believe that being married to me is a really fun adventure, but sometimes I wonder if he'd be happier with someone who wrote less and slept more.  If that's the case, he's never let on.  Instead he scrubs the chicken waterer, gamely says, "Sure", and pulls on an extra sweater. 

He's grown-up into a man I'm proud to be with.

He can fix a leaky shower, and he reads books.  He's helpful to a fault sometimes.  He has a long, patient fuse, but he's not afraid to let people know when they've reached the end of it.  He knows that a woman can run the free world, but he still offers me his arm when we're out on a date and I've chosen ridiculous shoes.  Once somebody or something is his responsibility he always takes really good care of that person or that thing.  In short, he's a man, not a boy dressing up like one.  And it still makes me beam a bit to get to walk into a room with him.

Happy Birthday Honey!