Love

 Love,

    Time stands still some days. I feel like I'm doing all that I can to force the breath to move in and out of my lungs. I feel exhausted and conflicted and all over the map. I feel like every feeling is completely out of control so I exercise myself to the point of exhaustion, and I micromanage the things that I can in the juvenile hope that control will make me feel safe. Control will numb the sorrow.

    Did I mention that some days I wrap myself up in your clothes so that I don't feel like you're so far away? Some days I bury my face in your things hanging up in the closet and shut my eyes so tightly so that I can pretend you're standing there filling them. Some days I long for the physical presence of you that my arms, chest, and body physically aches. Dramatic, I know, but also true.

    We get on the phone and I can't find any words to say because how do I describe the storm in my spirit without making you feel guilty? How do I express how desperately I want you to be here without having to dive in to consequences and choices and decisions that have been intentionally made?

    From the moment I met you, the time spent without you feels like a vacuum of darkness. It feels like all of the best parts of me disappear and I'm left trying to figure out how to keep on truckin'. It's why I ran away the first time you deployed because this love that you've brought to my heart was so overwhelming and agonizing that it was easier to numb myself and shut it down. Except numbing ourselves to hurt always means numbing ourselves to joy.

    I am working on intentionally sitting in the aches that I want to avoid. Grounding myself in the pain so that I don't lose out on any of the sun drops of joy that abound. Looking at your face flooded my heart with so much light today. Feeling the butterflies in my stomach, the longing in my chest, and the many emotions that you wear on your face is a pleasure. Even if we aren't saying any words, sitting silently looking at each other through a phone camera while our children talk about driving, and dating, and college, and all of the things that are such big experiences, all I could do was smile. 

    Look at what we've made. Two broken-family kids, scared to pieces, desperate for the comfort that only the other can bring. We have four human beings who are utterly fantastic, and somehow we get to be a part of that. I look at them and I see you. I see the way you wear your emotions on your sleeve, the way you force yourself to do so.many.things that your heart doesn't want to. I see your endurance and your strength. I see the resilience of a man a million times stronger than I am, capable of holding me up while I learn how to put myself back together, and vulnerable enough to let me do the same for him. I see the way you carry patience like a warrior, understanding that God will make everything okay, even when nothing feels okay.

    You take my breath away. I am now, and have been since I met you, completely in awe of you, utterly yours. You have taught me what it is to feel, to stop numbing myself from the hurts and the harms, and I struggle to remember that when you're gone.

    Right now I'm wrapped up in your sweatshirt, looking at your picture, sitting in the joy and the sadness, the grief and the elation, that has come over the years. I can't wait until you're home.

Letter to You

 It's Father's Day and we spoke for only a few minutes. There are moments in a marriage where one runs out of words. I miss the moments where touch could communicate everything I wanted to say to you. I miss not having to figure out the explosions in my mind, how to define them, and then releasing them from my mouth. I miss my heart racing, my pulse jumping, my breath catching, because you walked.in.the.door. I miss the way your eyes dance when you're laughing. I miss throwing my head back because you said or did something hilarious. I miss sitting next to each other on the couch. I miss feeling like our lives were moving forward. I hate living, while also being on pause. 

I'm tired.

Who are we in this next chapter? Who are we in this current one? Why does it all feel so confusing, boring, underwhelming, and overwhelming all at the same time? Why do I feel incapacitated, like I can't take a deep breath, because I don't get to see you every day? Why does love feel so unfair sometimes? Why am I so jealous of schools and hope and promise of the future? Who are we anymore, babe? What are we even doing here?

There was such a lengthy period of time where I could answer those questions with ease. Everything felt so clear and focused. I knew the point. I got the brief. We were in it to win it. Then I saw the shit show of the fallout. The decisions that have broken my heart into thousands of pieces and then poured salt in the gaping wounds. There are moments where I used to scream from the mountaintops, tell the stories as loudly as I could. I used to fight for the families, fight for the marriages, fight for the country to understand the reality behind it all. We are not the characters that are displayed on tv. We are so much more nuanced than that. I spent years fighting to make leaders understand what the experience was of the spouses and the kids, the girlfriends and the parents. I fought with all that I could to make everyone's voices heard. I fought until my heart was broken and bruised.

I want our children to understand that while the Army defines its backbone as the NCO, there's no soldier without their family. Period. There's no military fathers without the other half of the equation sitting back in America, while everyone barbeques, holding their crying children, putting on a happy face, hunkering down and just.getting.through.it. While simultaneously figuring out care packages, fighting to keep the connection alive via text, conversation, email, letter.

I'm so tired.

I feel so broken. I feel so drained. I feel exhausted and conflicted and unable to describe with any level of efficiency even the slightest element of how I feel. The minutes take forever to pass, and what has felt like a year has only been a couple of months. War is not for those who have seen too much of it. There's a necessary naivete. I feel angry when I hear people say We have to support this to save the world. I want to scream that they have exactly zero understanding of what that means, feels like, or looks like. Zero. I want to yell how easy it is to state when one's not sitting alone without their absolute favorite human being, for the seventh deployment, for the 102nd (and counting - adding in a separate tour, and not including training) month of sleepless, lonely nights. I'm the one sitting here trying to keep it all together waiting for the day when this current shit show will end and I will be able to take a deep breath and finally fall asleep.

I miss things making sense, then you get on facetime and I lay there staring at you, in the dark of our room, until the sound of your breath makes me fall asleep. I push my aching heart up against the imagination of what it feels like to be wrapped up in your embrace. I slow my breathing and go to the moments where you're hand is interlocked with mine, and everything feels simple and calm. I miss you.

November 24

 America,

Our wedding was nothing at all like I envisioned my wedding day would be. I was terrified to get married. Terrified. So I asked him to stay with me (calm down folks...) the night before. He woke up early and snuck out on the day of our wedding. I still remember him kissing my forehead before he grabbed his dress uniform and walked out. 

Our wedding day was probably how I would define awful. We were married in a mess of a building, by a guy we didn't know, on a day where it not only rained, but also dropped a tornado. We had no real wedding cake (a quick Walmart sheet cake), a dress I hated, no photographer, and on and on. With all of the awful components to the day, there are beautiful things that stand out to me. 

He stayed because I asked him to. There wasn't a debate about it, or an argument, or me begging him to do what I needed him to, he just did it. In that subtle, small moment, he showed me that he would always choose me if he was capable of doing so. He kissed my forehead goodbye in the morning, something he has done every single morning that he has been here to do so. 

I have written, and spoken, many times about the moment with my Dad in the foyer before walking in, but I will do so again. I was having an awful day. I was disappointed and overwhelmed and afraid. All of my sisters had walked in and it was just me and my dad. I was sitting on a bench and he looked me square in the eye and said If you don't want to do this we will walk out of here right now and NO ONE will say anything to you about it. In that single phrase, my 21 year old, scared self, had the safety of her Dad saying that no matter what, he would protect me. He and I had the bond of a lifetime, and I did not have any clue, at the time, what it must have been like for him. In that moment, he must have been recognizing that I was never going to come back. In that foyer, my Daddy was letting me go, and double checking that I was ready to do it. He knew that we would never be close by again, and every close moment would be short lived through vacations or trips or phone calls. I remember saying I want to marry him Dad. I'm just scared. He responded Well then you hold on to me darlin', and I'll get you there. I linked my shaky arm through his strength and down we went. What a gift that I get to hold that memory of my sweet father so close to my heart.

That day, we had no clue what our marriage would walk us through. We had no idea of the enormous heartaches and challenges we would face. We were just two scared young adults who knew without a shadow of a doubt, that we had to face the world together. What a treasure this marriage is to me.

Mess

 America,

Every attempt to write about him, or to talk about him, falls short. It's like trying to write a piece of music that expresses how the ocean moves against the shore. Nothing quite sums it up. 

If you come to me to support the dissolution of your marriage, you're not going to get it. I believe that marriages are made to be hard, heavy, challenging, exhausting. I believe that marriages are like trying to win a race to the top of Mount Everest. They take an astronomical amount of blood, sweat, tears, endurance, and perseverance. They take a multitude of cursing escapades, an abundance of begging God, and words of praise. Marriage is messy and hard and ugly. But it's also more beautiful than the most beautiful sunrise you've ever seen. It's more breathtaking than a full moon as it's low against planet Earth. It's more outstanding than the sight of your favorite person after a long time apart.

My marriage has been as ugly and messy as they can get. There have been more nightmares and hardships than anyone other than him understands. There have been so many screaming matches, silent treatments, and moments where all hope was lost. There were years of darkness that I didn't believe we could crawl out of. He's an asshole and a gentleman and the funniest person I've ever known. He's stubborn beyond what anyone can possibly imagine. He's also the safest place I've ever been. He's the most supportive person on the planet. He is willing to dive in, head first, with me in all of the darkest places I've been. He holds my hand and sits next to me waiting for me to be ready to climb out of the holes I sometimes find myself in. He supports the grief I feel about the struggles we navigate, and he somehow thinks I'm fantastic when most days I'm a centimeter away from being a complete and utter basket case.

There have been so many periods where we didn't like each other at all, where we felt like the Grand Canyon was between us and connection was impossible. We have walked through hell and back and there again. 

Marriage is amazing. I'm forever only his. By God's grace we're still messing it up, and building it back together again. By God's strength we're still fighting to be holding each other's hands, and wrapped around each other at night. There's no one on earth that compares to him. I'm thankful for every war we've fought, every battle we've lost, every moment we've laughed, and every second we've been together and apart. This mess is magical.

Army Weak

There is a strange mixture of emotions and circumstances that can come to light when you are a military spouse. I am in one right now. My husband is a superstar. He is ethical, moral, loyal, faithful. He works himself to the bone because of integrity and duty to his superiors and his juniors. I adore this about him, and hate it at the same time.

He had been long overdue for a promotion. There were many factors that were a part of this that I won't go into. They don't really matter in the grand scheme, but it certainly affected him psychologically. When the promotion came, his spirit was renewed and his adoration, love, and insane work drive returned.

I love seeing my husband come alive in this lifestyle we live. I love seeing him feel about his job how he felt in the beginning of our relationship. I love hearing about his excitement as he teaches some young dude about tanks. I love how his face lights up at the notion of turning his tank engine on and fiddling around with it. I. love. it.

I hate how much he works. I hate that he works more than anyone else in this company. I don't say that in some pity party way (though I am certainly having many of those moments in my own emotional way), it is just a fact. His position requires it. I am working on processing through these things. It is hard for me.

This is not to say that I don't recognize things could be harder. He has deployed five times, so I think I can pretty fairly say I know what it's like to be apart in that regard. Yes, I realize he could be in Afghanistan or the Sudan or Korea... All of those things suck. The point of this post is not to complain about his time away. And if that's what you think I'm doing, I'm sorry that you don't know me well enough to see past that.

My point here is this is the process of adjusting for the spouse left at home (AKA: me). It. is. hard. And no one really prepares you for this! I miss my mentors who have gone away! I miss having those gals to say: "Oh my dear... he's a platoon sergeant now. You'll never see him! It sucks. But you're not alone. We're all in this together!" I miss them telling me these feelings are normal and you will come through it stronger. I miss that...

I love Chief. I love him something fierce and his walking into my door at 7pm, only to have to go back again at 9 and come back home at 11 SUCKS. It is hard to adjust my brain to being okay/at peace/comfortable with that. And this aspect has REALLY surprised me, America. I didn't expect it. I thought I would breeze into this change with no problems. I haven't. It has brought me to tears many times.

It's a strange place to be. Immensely proud, insanely in love with his dedication. To admire this part of his personality is beautiful. But to be the person who feels like a basket case sucks! And I hate that I am having such a hard time! All of these feelings are completely mine. They are my own challenges to accept and get on board with. I will never discourage him from what he's doing. I will never tell him to stop it. But I won't hide that it hurts either. Because here's the awesome thing about Chief: he's man enough to handle my tears and honorable enough to do his job anyway. He's awesome enough to be able to prioritize his duty to this calling, and his duty to me, and he has this expert ability to balance it. I am amazed by how he does it, but he does.

So, America, I've been having a pity party. I've been feeling kind of sad. I miss my husband. But I am so proud of him. And I wanted to share with my readers who are a bit lower than me (and maybe some who are higher than me but feeling alone), that this too might come across your path. I really hope that when/if it does, I'll still be around to say to you: "This is normal. It sucks. You will grieve. But then you'll adjust and you'll be stronger for it."

Final thought: Feeling Army weak, is the beginning of becoming Army Strong.

Polar Bear Plunge

When I was younger I had a mental image of my adult life. The picture was so vivid and powerful. I remember the distinct moment where it forked in the road. I had to choose, image or reality. It was time to stop envisioning and start living. You see life pictures are such a ridiculous thing to envision. The real joys, the real awesome moments of life are things you could never have possibly imagined.

The day I married Chief, I felt sick to my stomach. I felt, literally, like vomiting. I felt like a tiger about to be caged. I didn't have all those dreamy, musically sappy emotions that so many people seem to experience. I didn't want to get married. I wanted to be married, but not actually take the step of entering into it. I had no dreams of relinquishing my life, my heart, my self to another human being. So what I had imagined my wedding to be, ended up not happening at all. The truth is that it was an awful day. Sounds funny to write that, but it's true. My wedding day completely sucked. Hated the dress. Hated the church. Hated the rush of it all. Hated pretty much everything about it. Except two things: 1. I married the greatest man I've ever known and 2. my dad made me feel so safe, so brave, in what was probably the scariest moment in my life at the time.

I knew that being married would be tough. I knew Chief better than anyone else, well before I was willing to marry him. I knew that he knew me. I always had the belief that two people should enter into a permanent union with their eyes wide open. They should know the good, the bad, and the ugly before they decide whether or not til death do they part. I held nothing back. I didn't participate in the ridiculous mating rituals of "I'll show you my good side". I always thought that was stupid (I still do, by the way). How can someone adequately assess if the promise is really a good idea if they don't know the real you!?

He knew I didn't want to get married. He knew I was a flight risk. He knew it so well that he knew to spend time with me the day of our wedding (collective GASP!) right before the ceremony (double gasp!). He knew I just had to get through the promise. (I feel it necessary to add, for history's sake, that he threatened the tar out of me too... I will never talk to you again!!! He clearly was nervous I would bail again...) It was like standing at the edge of the lake waiting to join the Polar Bear Club (yes, I'm a member). You're standing there staring in to the water and you feel like your heart is in your chest. You have these self protecting notions screaming so loud you can barely think: get the hell out of here!!! but you have this other part that says I can do this. I want to do this. I know I can rock this. And no, I'm not referring to the wedding day. I'm referring to the relationship. I knew I was made for Chief. I knew he was made for me. There wasn't a doubt in my mind. Not even a slight doubt. Chief and I were meant to be. 

I was standing in the hallway, waiting to go down the aisle to the dude that was going to rock my world, staring ahead at the plunge. My brain was screaming at me to run away... Marriages don't work. What married people do you know that are happy? You're doomed to repeat the mistakes of your parents. You can't handle being alone. What on earth makes you think you can handle a soldier? And then my Dad cut through the internal screaming: "Are you ready?" He must have sensed that I was contemplating running out of the church. He said "If you don't want to do this we will walk out of this church right now and NO ONE will say anything to you." I laughed. (He always makes me laugh when I most need to) "No Dad. He's the one. I'm just scared." He said: "We'll do it together. I've got you." 

And with that, we linked arms and walked down the aisle: I made the plunge. With that I let go of my very life, and gave it to someone else. With that I erased my name, and the disappointments that went along with it, and merged my very self to something new. 

Now, years later (I am battled scarred, after all... haha) I can say that the pictures I envisioned of my adult life were nothing close to what my life is actually like. How could I have ever imagined something as amazing as all this? 

Waves

I was knee-deep in self misery and wallowing. I was trapped in self pitying scenario, like a broken record skipping over and over again. I was lost in the vicious mind-cycle of asking why, over and over again. And one day I woke up and finally accepted the outcome. One day the changes became habits and the habits became the norm and I stopped asking. It was what it was. It is what it is. And it will be what it will be.

So I put one foot in front of the other and I transformed myself to this new reality. I could handle it. I could juggle it all. I thrive in chaos. It's what's been the norm my whole life. I was equipped.

I think I did a pretty good job of it. It started to feel like it wasn't that big of a deal. But then a moment would come where someone would ask about it and I'd list each condition, each challenge, each diagnosis and my whole head would start spinning and I would think Do I really do this every single day!?

The truth of it all is that I am exhausted. I'm sick of doctors. I'm sick of tests. I'm sick of "conditions" and medicine and creams and on and on. I'm sick of going through every single day with eighteen thousand things that my brain has to remember and process and deal with. I'm. tired.

What I most want to convey to people is that parents with children who have special needs are exhausted. They don't need to be pitied or rescued. They need you to understand that sometimes they alienate, they "disappear", they don't call for a while, they withdraw... Not because they don't appreciate you, or value you in their lives. They do it for self preservation. They do it to climb inside of themselves, lick their wounds, and re-emerge stronger.

I am so tired. I am just trying to keep going. It's hard when you're so tired of things you can't change, fix, or will away. I'm tired of conditions and there is nothing I can do about them. I'm tired of all of things that massively impact my life, and I can not influence them at all. I'm tired of medicine. I'm tired of tests. I'm tired of going to the doctor all the time.

I have so much to count as my blessings. I work hard to speak of those things, and to focus on those things. Not in an effort to ignore my frustrations, but rather in an effort to keep my mind focused on the good. It's like being a wave. You can choose to lament over being crashed on the shore, sucked out to sea, and then tossed around over and over again, or you can choose to acknowledge that the sand is always there to catch you.

I am blessed that I have one heck of a beautiful beach always there to catch me. I'm blessed that he is the backbone of all that I am, and that he is strong enough to handle the ferociousness of my crashing down. I am thankful that he resists the force of my churning, but yet moves and bends with me. He works against me and with me at the same time. And the result is something beautiful that only the two of us together can create.

But today I'm tired. Today I'm feeling a bit sorry for myself. Today I want to cancel the doctor's appointments that we have almost every single day for the next week. Today I want to not give any medicines or treatments or any thought to conditions...

But instead I'll keep crashing on that beach. And I'll take great comfort in that he'll always be there to catch me when I fall. Today I'll focus on that, and maybe tomorrow I won't feel so drained.

The experience of letting go

Unwrapping my fingers from yours, relaxing my arms and letting them drop to my sides, and standing there frozen in this moment watching you walk away. My feet are cemented to the ground. My heart is breaking. I drop my sunglasses down over my eyes. I don't like to cry. I don't like for people to see me cry. I don't like feeling so desperate.

You walk over to get in the formation that will lead you away from me. I do everything in my power to keep my mind focused and sharp. I want to remember you. I want to remember your smell, your smile, your laugh. I want to remember the feel of your scruffy cheeks in the morning before you shave. I want to remember the sound of your breathing at night. I want to remember...

Always in the back of the conversation in my mind is what if? It's an endless dialogue that will keep me company for the next year. It will plague my dreams and my thoughts. It will haunt me every time the doorbell rings unexpectedly. It will be the thoughts that pop up late at night when the kids are asleep and the house is quiet.

My ears will hunger for the sound of the garage door opening at the end of the duty day. My eyes will search for you in the sea of uniforms that surround me. Your car will shock my heart every time I pull up to our house and see it, because for a split second I will forget that you're over there and not sitting at home in our living room.

Our children will react the only way that children know how. They will be angry, out of control, emotional and they won't really understand the whole process of grief. I hate that they are learning this at such young ages.

The world will go on even though my entire world is frozen in time. People will laugh and be silly and I will feel like laughing is a betrayal and any moment that could be special is missing the majority of the equation. I will write. I will write until my hands can't move. I will do everything possible to make sure you feel included.

My phone will become my only connection to you. I will love this and hate it at the same time.

You are marching out now and I'm running as fast as I can to my car so I can be at the airfield before you and wave you in. My final goodbye. My last eye-to-eye glimpse of you. It will now be skype... the lifeline.

Somehow I have to get in my car and drive home. Somehow I have to walk in to that house with your stuff, your ghost, your memory and face those children who are all aching and hurting and give them comfort. Some how I have to get through this because they need me, and you need me, and this is what I'm supposed to do. Somehow I am going to make it through the next minute, even though it feels like my life is over. Somehow I'm going to endure this year even though in this specific moment, I feel like I. can't. breathe. Somehow...

I'll sit here in this garage waiting until the sobs stop. I'll sit here waiting until I can breathe again. I'll find the will to begin this life without you here. I'll get through the agony that I can't describe. And one day, God willing, I will wake up and this will be over.

Parenting

Some days being a parent sucks. Today was one of those days. One of our children has a very feisty temper. Well, she just has a feisty everything really, but her temper can be especially trying on one's patience and kindness. For the past week or so, she's been pushing every single button she can. She has exhausted the gentleness of her father and me. Today was no different. She was especially awful today.

I had tapped out of parenting her by the evening. When I start clenching my fists it's time for me to say that I'm finished in that moment, and I had to tell her Dad that it was his turn. Chief took over and she was as ferocious as ever. In a beautiful moment, Chief came out of the girl's room, walked up to me and hugged me. He said "Help me to use kind words." I said "Who are you talking to because I'm so mad I can barely see straight!" He said "You and God. I think she needs kind words but I'm so angry with her I just want to scream at her."

It was powerful. It was also beautiful. There we were, two grown ups, being pushed and challenged by our five year old child. There he was coming to me for a regroup, and bringing us both to God for a collected mentality.

We snuggled for a few minutes and then off he went back to fight the good fight. When he went back in to her room, in the midst of her screaming tantrum, he walked up to her and hugged her. I know because I had an overwhelming sense that I should hug her myself and when I walked in I saw them hugging while he was talking to her. We all stood there hugging in her room, talking about this behavior.

The thing that is neat to me, is that the story didn't turn out like you might have imagined. It didn't all wrap up neatly before bed. She continued acting like a lunatic. She didn't all of a sudden start to behave and apologize for her rude actions. She didn't have any sort of revelation about respecting her parents and treating people with kindness. But we did. We were reminded that she is a person (it's extra neat that as I was writing that sentence, I was reminded of what our priest said today in church: missionary work is reaching out to people and connecting with them. It's not protests and agendas, but connecting with a person in a trusting and intimate way. Powerful stuff!). We were reminded that so are we. We were schooled on the notion of self control and kindness (notice I did not say surrendering, but rather kindness). We also were drawn closer to each other and we stood side-by-side tackling this challenge as one unit.

It's amazing to me how the behavior of our children can teach us so many lessons. In the heat of this outrageously challenging evening, Chief and I could have turned our emotions on each other. We could have become angry and yelled and screamed and acted just like our child. But because of Chief's wisdom... because of his self control, the entire tone of our conduct changed. That, my friends, is leadership. It is leadership and missionary work in the most excellent of ways.

Mr Jones.

I'm supposed to write a little ditty about Chief for our vows renewal that is coming up. Yes, I am started to get pretty darn close to the deadline, but to be completely honest, how do I write enough tiny little words to fill up a 3X5 card about a person who can't be defined? How do I pick a few words to say a lifetime's worth of gratitude? What can I say that will stick with the dude who remember's dates like no other, and can seem to quote things I've said with no trouble at all?

You saved my life. I mean really. I was completely broken. I was curled up on my kitchen floor, seriously considering ending my life, because the honest fact is that no one ever really cared about me. I was on the phone with you and bawling my eyes out about how I must surely be unlovable because no one ever could, would, or did. I think it was the only moment in all my years knowing you where your entire soul was screaming at me, and the ache and desperation in your voice were seeping out. You shouted How could you EVER say that!? I would give ANYTHING to love you if you'd just let me! LET ME LOVE YOU! I would give anything to love you! It was the most impassioned plea. It was filled with desperation, agony, and complete heartache. And it was the first time in my life that I had ever truly, truly known that someone loved me.

You have always known the ugliest sides of me. You have been the object of my deepest agony, my longest darkness, my heaviest burdens. You've been the brunt of my anger, the object of my rejection, the denial of my need. You have felt all of the horribleness I am capable of dishing out. You have never once made me feel like a burden. You have never once made me feel crazy, or insane, or ridiculous. You have never once mocked my immature behavior. You always have placed me above all others, even when I was not your girlfriend.

You have always chosen to see the best in me. You have always chosen to accept my damages. You have laughed at my jokes, handed me tissues when I'm crying, and given me things I never imagined ever having or wanting. You have literally saved my life. You have given me the freedom to fight my demons, the comfort to move past the constant rejections, and the love that my spirit has ached for. You are the only person who knows me. You are the only person that gets me. You are my human version of Agape. You are my mate, my heart, my love.

Thank you for having the balls to dive into my darkness and pull me out of it. Thank you for sharing my life journey with me. Thank you for laughing along this road of ridiculousness with me. Thank you for having four beautiful children with me. Thank you for not jumping ship when it's been tough. Thank you for forgiving my many flaws, and embracing my good traits. Thank you for allowing me to acknowledge my stupidities without shoving them in my face. Thank you for the butt dance, putting up with pillowgate, and my heart's love for a four legged dog who costs us loads of money. Thank you for being strong enough to not only be my man, but to also be my protector, my children's father, my friend.

You and I have always been underestimated and under appreciated by those in our lives. It's pretty freaking neat that together we've been conquering odds and shattering statistics and having one heck of a time doing it. I can't wait to spend a jillion more years being silly with you.