Eight years...

Why write a love letter and publish it on a blog for all to see? Two main reasons. First, Josh and I met online. It's part of our world. We write and share our writing online. And, second, I want to take time to pay attention to the gifts in my life. Writing about Josh and our marriage on our nearly eighth anniversary (October 13) is a way to push the pause button, breathe, and be grateful. We did that together today face-to-face, and now I'm doing it for us online.

Thoughtful. Right now he is snuggling with Maya to help her fall asleep so I can keep writing (and faffing around on Facebook and Twitter). He is one of the most generous people I've ever met. Kind, giving, loving, thoughtful. His default is to think of others before himself. Some of us take advantage of that (see: moving across the country) but sometimes we don't. :-) (And, thanks, hunny, for bringing me my power cord while I'm in here writing this.)

Brave. He married a woman (me :-) who dives into things. Fear makes me move. He is more cautious (see "thoughtful") and considers and weighs issues before making changes. From within that personality, he sought and found a job across the country. About as far as possible from the place he had called home for thirteen years all because I wanted to get back to New England. He took a job in a new field. Moved to a world totally unfamiliar to him. The move/job weren't the only things he's tackled in the time that I've known him. For his bravery, I will always be grateful. He not only faced his fears but threw them to the side so I could have what I wanted. An awesome (I don't use that word lightly) gift.

Funny. If you have to explain the joke, it didn't work. I get his jokes, no 'splaining ever needed. Our "inside" jokes have lives of their own. If we were to explain to you (and we've tried at times) how he became "beefahdee" and I became "fappidy," it would make no sense. Suffice it to say it involved my desperately allergic reaction to his cat dander infested bed in Houston, a long late night, and a loopy lack of spelling power on my part. Oh, and The Onion. This evening I looked over and saw just Althea's head peeping up over the end of the bed. Sometimes I'll look over and it's just our cat, Funky, about six feet in the air, popping her head through the door. Or the diaper dance ("Honey, would you do the diaper?" And he does.) If you spend time near us you may hear one of us say "Lawrence," or "Tiger," and we'll know exactly what we mean though it will make no sense to you. Beautiful thing? Maya's got his sense of humor, too. She's so clever. She also "gets" the inside jokes of ours and plays along. The two of them together can make a giggle factory explode. I think he oughtta share his humor with more of the world.

Smart. I've gone on and on about this before, but let me tell you something. This man isn't just book smart (though he is), he isn't just intuitively smart (he is), he's one of those holy shit how does your brain do that kind of smart people. Because of his humility and his taste for pop culture, pop-ish music, and silliness, some people might not realize. But the man is not just a walking encyclopedia (not in that annoying I KNOW THINGS kind of way, just in that renaissance kind of way) but he processes facts and concepts and can break things down into manageable parts. I count on him for the brain work in our relationship. No kidding. Not saying I'm not smart. I've got my own kind of smarts. But *knowing* things, the who the what the where, he does that for us. He taught himself to speak Chinese (Mandarin) last year. He's planning on Hindi and Arabic next. Of course, time is a bit of an issue. But, holy shit, man. Chinese! (He claims it's easier to learn than English which I think is a load of hooey, but, I'm a bit biased.) Sure, his iPhone is an extension of his arm so he really can answer *any* question. But it's not really all that often that he has to go to the iPhone when I say, "Who was so-and-so and why are they important?" If he doesn't know, though, he'll be sure to look it up. He is teh smart.

Patient. And, no, I don't mean about day-to-day things. Regarding stuff like the fuse blowing because the coffee maker and the dishwasher were on at the same time, the man has less patience than... a something-really-really-really-impatient. Not sure why, but the image of a lion stung on the ass by a wasp or something came to mind. But then I started thinking the lion wouldn't care like a person would care about a wasp sting and I lost my train of thought. Ah, but see, here's a prime example of his beautiful patience. With me. With my ways. He not only is patient, but appreciates and finds endearing some of those qualities others have found deeply distasteful. He accepts me. He knows me in more ways than most. I do "TMI." I blurt out every thought I have even if it sounds like I've made some kind of decision but really I'm only just saying a thought that's passing through my brain at the moment. Instead of taking everything I say as written in stone (which, I think, I must present it as in far, far too many instances) he knows if he waits, I'll come back around to something more reasonable. When we're walking, I really prefer him being on my left side. It's a thing I have. To him, it's no big deal. He calls my "things," "specificidous." It's a sweet and kind way of appreciating my almost OCD like control issues. Not that fork. Never the green cup if I can avoid it. The long sleeved shirts are on the right of her drawer. Walk on my left, let me choose which side of the bed in the hotel, let me choose which seat in the restaurant (sometimes it's a "no back to the door" issue, sometimes it's a "need to face the most people, fewest at my back" issue). Patient. Of course at times I've accused him of swallowing the annoyance I must cause him and creating a boiling churning pot of resentment inside him. But, no, he honestly and truly both: doesn't really give a shit where he sits, and/or, depending on the "thing," finds it adorable that I care about xyz.

And now, as I've tried and failed to get his virtual attention, I'll go out there to see what he's up to. Likely writing his weekly blog post which you can find here on Sundays. We'll snuggle up on the couch and watch the second episode of Dexter. Just right.

(And, jeez louise, if I start writing about what a father he is to our girls I'll be in here another hour. Getting out there to couch-land is waaayyyy more important. He's brilliant. Best father, ever.)

I love you, Jershua. Thank you for being you. Really you. And thank you for loving me just as I am.

--Hfap


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