I love my husband

     I love my husband.... and I when I say that... I don't think you understand... I LOVE my husband.
uhg.. thats so terribly underwhelming, the word.. love.. for what my heart does when I think about him.
When I talk about my husband, or even when I use the words "my husband"... I don't think my attentive listener, regardless of how well intentioned, understands what he means to me. He is not just a man I share a home with, a bed with, or family with. He is it. The love of my life.
    I've often sat back and pondered, what it is that makes me love this man so, so deeply. To the point that I still catch myself occasionally staring out the window and daydreaming of him, maybe even letting out a sigh. He says I only love him for his body, and undoubtedly his body and how he handles mine is an excellent reason to love him, albeit an amazing bonus to marriage. It could very well be because he puts money in my bank account. He's an electrical engineer, and I could very well sit on my duff and live off of his hard earned money if I so desired.  And on that note it could be because he's smart. You should see the home work he does. I can't even talk about it at length, it makes my head hurt. It might be the fact that I can do what I want. I could sit on my aforementioned duff and do nothing to add to our income or housework, I could find full time employment, or I could choose (as I have) to drain him entirely and continue on through various courses of advanced learning. I could love him because he loves our children. Its so rare to find a man that whole heartedly accepts fatherhood as a partnership. He wakes up with the kids at night! Yeah! Thats right! At night! Since they have been off the breast, he's taken on the task of waking up with them at night if they have a bad dream or have to pee or just don't want to sleep anymore. He gets them dressed in the morning, he does homework with them, he gets all riled up when one of them is some how being oppressed by the outside world... yes, indeed, fatherhood is an extremely sexy characteristic on him. I could love him because he puts up with me. He listens to me rant, he listens to me when I'm irrational, when I cry, when I yell, when I just go on, and on, and on, and on... And he always has. For close to 15 years now, he's been listening to me, validating me, affirming me, giving me perspective. I could love him because he makes me laugh... even when I don't want to, even when its at myself. Laughing is so incredible valuable.
     There are so many reasons why I could love him. And as I step back and think about what makes this equation of the intense love I feel for him... not a single one of these could be left out of the reason... however none of them, even in their collaberation are enough to describe why I love him. I just do. Immensely, wholly. When I get into bed with him at night, and he tucks me into his.. armpit?... its like I melt into the bed, its like everything inside me sighs and is at home. I could put my face in his neck and breath, and finally it doesn't matter what I think, what I know, what makes sense, and what doesn't... because I just love him.

Title Unknown

Uhg... am I in a process. I have a professor that says that growing and learning should be uncomfortable. That if we are to change, it should be hard. Damn it. She's right.
Everyday I learn about a short coming I have, or a place where I'm not big enough to fill a gap. I envision daily having to inscribe a new tattoo on my arm for me to remember how to be, sort of like how I used to write phone numbers on my hand or home work assignments (no, I was never organized). As of this week alone my arm would say, "Its not all about you...." "shut up..." "listen, just listen"..."breath".. "think critically"... "you are not the answer"... "you don't know it all"
Its terribly uncomfortable, its uncomfortable knowing its not about me, that I don't have the answers, that I can't talk it away, or say the right things. I'm as helpless as I am helpful .
For the first time in my life I feel terribly deficient. As self-proclaimed affirmation junky, I'm seeing that flattery, and good intentions don't cut it anymore. God damn, it hurts to be judged, and to be misunderstood.
 But do I deserve it? Seriously, am I not always right?
I wonder if every one else goes around feel like they have the answer... cause I certainly feeling this way. That my way is the way, and that I.. but of course.. make sense. I would never go as far to say, I am right and you are wrong... however.. I am most definitely right (note the facitiousness in this statement).
Humble pie... yuck.. the expression taste like sawdust in my mouth (and thats not only because it sounds like a terrible backwoodsy expression)...
As much as I have a clear distaste for humble pie, and this discomfort that is the "becoming" process, I love it. I embrace it whole heartedly. Change sucks, having to grow and learn sucks. But I would have it no other way. I am not always right, but please tell me what is. Its not all about me, but please tell me about the people that its about. I looooonnng for refinement, so up hill I will charge! give me my spoon!

"If we see that people, in order to be, are always in the act of becoming, that in the fullness of life we live life with incompletion" -Paulo Freire

ARGGG!!

I don't care about your house! I don't care about your car! I don't care about how much you make or what you have! I don't care how little I will make, how old my car is, or how tiny my house is! How could YOU (you is not you, but them, of course) forget that these things waste away to nothing? All that matters to me is the people I'm with and the happiness in my heart. I am healthy, my babies are healthy, my husband is healthy. I can make sweet love to the love of my life any night of the week. There's a warm dinner on my table, and a little girl that tells me I'm the "best cooker ever". I have friends that I laugh with until I cry. I have a great gathering of women that have raised me to who I am and keep me grounded even now. And I know myself, I know who I am, I know my faults. I don't cover them, you'll know me the moment you meet me until the moment we part. I am honest, I'm aggressive, I'm protective. I will not mince words, but I'll mince onions and have you over for dinner.