Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Oh, by the way, I'm still glad you were born

So it's your birthday again, huh?

You would think by now I would have run out of words to tell you what a ridiculously fantastic husband you are. But you know me. I never run out of words.

You're turning 32 today, and we have known each other for 9 years now... that's 28% of your life and 36% of mine. Let's just average that out and say 32% okay?

Look at me, doing math.

A third of our lives have been spent together now, and each year that I watch you get a little older I kind of wonder at what point you'll start acting like a grown-up.

I mean, not in the budgeting and working and owning-a-karate-school-and-a-house way. You've got that part covered.

I mean in the "you are old and stuffy and boring" sort of way.

Because while you are just old enough to always make me feel young (On my birthday, everybody was like "Ooooo, you're 25 now! Don't you feel old?" and I said "No, of course not! Because by the time I'm 30, my husband will be almost 40!"), you are definitely not stuffy or boring.



You make me laugh until my stomach hurts most every day, usually doing something completely not-grown-up, like shamelessly eating my ice cream cone while I'm getting something out of my purse, or sticking your tongue out at me through a napkin when I take your picture and then being surprised that, when you take it off, there are little bits of napkin left on your tongue that you can't get off.



And yet, you still take care of me. When people ask about who our electric company is or how much we pay for cable, I have to answer that I have no idea because you run our household so smoothly that I don't even have to worry about any of it myself.

Yes, he was singing the Plain White T's "1, 2, 3, 4" to me in this photo.


And the love. Nobody who knows you can dispute that you love me (and that you treat me like a queen). You brag on me with everybody you know, whether it's about my cooking, my job, or some silly thing I did to help you out.

You share your pickle with me when I don't get one at lunch (because, as you say, I "keep ordering pickle-less entrees"), and as far as I'm concerned, pickle-sharing is the agape of our relationship. Nothing tops pickle-sharing love.

Add to all of that the things you've accomplished in your short 32 years here, it's enough to make anybody gasp. 6th degree black belt. School owner. Master Nominee. World Champion. Gift-wrapping prodigy.

If I were nothing more than friends with you, I'd be lucky to have you in my life, but the fact that you chose me as your partner makes me the most blessed girl on the planet. There is nobody better than you. And there is nobody prouder than me.

So here's to another 32 years of making people gasp. Of being a man of integrity, chivalry, and respect. Of effortlessly making everybody you know fall in love with you for your charm and your simple kindness. Of being my very favorite person.

Happy birthday, Jack.

I'm really glad you were born.
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