So the hubs has been under the weather for a couple of weeks—I blame his flu shot—and as his health is quite fragile (just ask him), I did not expect his usual massive display of Valentine gallantry. Cough. We’ve been married since we were children (18—cough, again!), and over the centuries the whole holiday thing has rather decompensated for us. Not everything, mind you, just the sentimental and material elements that make it so special, like gifts, flowers, love notes, a date that ends with that special dessert… you know what I’m talking about. But the big holiday came at a bad time this year–my guy has been slogging through a company buyout, a business reorganization, an ever-lengthening client list, contract negotiations that give him a migraine, not to mention his everyday dealing with the entitled and impolite—grown people who throw fits like expert children. Sigh. With that much on his plate, let’s face it, there’s not much left when he gets home exhausted and cursing his swollen sinuses and a throat so sensitive to swallowing that he has likened the experience to the pain of a thousand cuts… I know. Today he actually said it hurt all the way up to his Eustachian tubes. Yes, I have a husband who says Eustachian tubes.
So, yeah, he makes for a pretty dramatic sick guy. But, and this is a BIG but, I soooo love him. You might not be able to tell, but I really am living my own dream. Valentine’s notwithstanding, when you get married that young, it takes a lot of patience and forgiveness to negotiate the vast quantities of dumbness and all the countless mistakes. And it takes a long time to get things right. But “right” seems to be exactly where we’re headed. And as weird as my little hubs is, not to mention my own monumental level of self-absorption, I simply cannot imagine doing life with anyone else. Yeah, this week Valentine’s was a bit of a bust, but it was also a week when two amazing daughters brought us two amazing grandbabies. Deklan is our new mini man, and I’m sorry, but his fabulousness is not to be equaled. We also got a precious Maggie who arrived on the scene 7 weeks early in an emergency the caliber of which took our breath away and drove us to our knees.
This stuff is the meat of life. It’s the stuff you can really only face holding hands—at times completely white-knuckled. So, ya know, when seen in that perspective, candy hearts and tulips sort of diminish in importance. I am, however, promised that Homer (not his real name) will make it up to me, and I will add that promise to the pile. (Have you seen the Vonage commercial? That’s about the size of the pile.) But there’s no rush. We’re Mormons. We do eternity.
And it wasn’t a total bust anyway. I did get my oh-so-special dessert. Yep, a 4-dollar cupcake. What?