little black journal

I had a dream about Robert Pattinson last night.  We were at a party and he was being all cool and Edward-y (minus the sparkles), and I was being all swoony and silly, and then, in the wee hours of the morning, I woke up.  I suffered just the shortest moment of disappointment that it was over, but then I rolled over and I looked at my husband sleeping next to me, snoring in his easy, quiet way, and I thanked my lucky stars for him.  I bet Shane is reading this now and thinking, “Say what?  You snuggled up on me this morning and wanted to spoon because you had a dream about a Twilight character?!”  But honey, no, that’s not it – I snuggled up on you because I love you and sometimes I am just so stinkin’ happy that I get be yours.  That you get to be mine.

Sometimes I forget to be thankful, and I spend my energy nagging, or pouting, or pushing Shane away, and I’m sorry for that.  Because, really, my man in the bee’s knees.  Cases in point:

He makes me laugh.  Probably every day.  I was sitting in the living room last night blog-surfing and he was downstairs in the office hackin’ around (my phrase for his complicated technological exploits), and suddenly, in the midst of the quiet, I heard him belt out the lyrics to some old-school Rage Against the Machine song.  I poked my head into the office and he started playing the air-drums and wildly shaking his head from side to side.  He had his headphones on, and the fact that I couldn’t hear the music made it even funnier.   He may or may not have been singing for me, but I don’t care – I’m just glad to bear witness to his unabashed silliness.

He’s my #1 fan, my loudest cheerleader and strongest advocate.  He shares in all my greatest joys, never hesitating to tell me that he’s proud of me and remind me that I have the potential to do anything I want to do.  And he often tells me that I’m hot.  That’s awfully nice.

He’s a rock.  He’s steady under pressure, cool in the midst of chaos, affirming when life starts to feel kinda…ick.  And he never ever lets me feel like I’m going at it alone – even in tough situations that don’t directly involve him, he insists “We will get through this”.  Sometimes I’m bugged by the “we” that so often replaces “I” once you get married, but sometimes that little two-letter pronoun holds so much comfort.  We got through the stress of my licensing exams a couple of years ago, we carry each other’s burdens in work and finances and relationships, we figure out how to do life together.  His contribution might be as simple as picking me up from work when I’ve had an especially long day, but sometimes that’s all it takes for me to be reassured that he’s not expecting me to fly solo.

So…thanks, baby.  Edward ain’t got nothin’ on you.