The Mr. is first and foremost a husband and Dad.
He's good at making breakfasts. And not bad at lunch and dinner either.
He makes a pot of coffee every morning and rarely drinks a cup. Coffee is my thing.
The girls will tell you that he is almost always good for a tank of gas--even when you're 26 and 28 years old.
He starts the car on cold mornings so it is warm for me.
He has endured more chick flicks than any man should have to.
He grocery shops. And after, he opens the trunk and hands off the keys so I can get in out of the cold and start the car while he stows the bags.
He overhears a lot of "girlie" conversations and has learned to mask whatever horrifying shock he might be feeling at TMI. (Too Much Information)
He spends a lot of time worrying: about his girls on the road or the boys that may break their hearts. My stroke brought him to a whole new level of worrying.
He's a pretty great guy. Better than most. He takes good care of us.
What do we do for him?
We let him watch a lot of sports. It's about the only masculine influence he gets around here.
We nag him about taking care of his health.
He has two daughters who hope they will find a guy as great as their dad to take care of them someday. Oh, and a wife who wouldn't trade him for anything.
It isn't an even exchange, but it's about the best we can do.
December 11, A Rose By Any Other Name
12 hours ago