My friend, Danielle, recently wrote a darling "Memo" about the wonderfulness that is her husband, Trav. (You can read it here.) I loved the concept; kind of like a happy post only limited to happiness that's husband realted. If you'll allow me a personal indulgence, here are a few things I really like about Nate:
1. He doesn't say mean things to me -- even when we're piping hot mad at each other. In fact, the meanest thing I can ever remember him saying to/about me was that he didn't like the mole above my left ear and that he thought I should have it removed. I didn't either [like the mole.] So I did [have it removed.]
2. He makes the best popcorn in my world every time we watch a movie and almost every Sunday afternoon. He pops the kernels in hot oil and shakes the pot on the stove, drizzles just the right amount of butter (every time), and shakes on just the right amount of Season Salt, (or a little too much. It's in his genes to like salt. A lot.)
3. He studied for six l-o-o-o-o-n-g months for the CPA exam--early in the morning before work, during his lunch break, after work 'til late at night, six days a week for six solid months. For passing, he received a bonus from work and do you know what he did with that hard-earned bonus for his arduous efforts? He bought me a piano for Christmas. Selflessness upon selflessness.
4. I toss dishes carelessly into the dishwasher all day long as we use them. Then when it comes time to load the lion's share of dinner dishes, there isn't enough room for them. Well, there is enough room for them, but not around all of my carelessly shoved contributions. So almost every night he unloads all of the dishes and then reloads the dishwasher very carefully and always makes everything fit--an impressive domestic engineering feat, to be sure. He also refills the Pur water filter pitcher in the fridge--every time, and I'm the one who drinks most of it.
5. He says he's going to take me to Europe one day. And I believe him.
6. He looks hot in everything. And nothing.
7. He makes us breakfast almost every Saturday morning, usually French toast, sometimes omelets.
8. After I had Henry (C-section) my body looked like an entirely different organism. I had bruises all over my backside. My entire back half was totally flat after laying supine for 36 hours. I had swollen ankles, (sometimes referred to as cankles,) and chubby marshmallow feet. The nurse made me take a shower on the third day of my recovery. As Nate was helping me get ready, he looked me up and down, surveying the damages and said, "You look like you've been to war, but I've never seen anything so beautiful in my entire life. Ever." And I believed him 'cause he's not in the business of blowing sunshine up people's skirts (or hospital gowns.)
9. He bathes Henry every night so I can have some quiet time, and most nights he gets in. They color with the soap crayons, and spell words on the wall with his foam letters, and dump water over each others' backs. Henry has no idea how lucky he is to call such a fun, silly, kind, honorable man "daddy."
10. Nate doesn't sing particularly well, but he is always singing and I love it. He sings hymns, very boisterously, en espanol, in the shower. He hums or whistles while he gets ready to leave for work. He sings to Henry. My favorite thing about his singing, though, is his made up lyrics. Sometimes when I cook chicken, I cut the breast in half so four sides can get that yummy crispy texture and flavor from direct contact with the cooking oil instead of just two. When Nate sees me doing it, he breaks out into a spirited rendition of "I like Chicken With Four Fried Sides," which he made up, and sings to the tune of "Buffalo Gals" (you know, "buffalo gals won't you come out tonight, come out tonight, come out tonight...") He just repeats the same lyrics over and over. And over. "I like chicken with four fried sides, four fried sides, four fried sides. I like chicken with four fried sides. Yes. I. Do!" As you might have guessed, he won't be quitting his day job to pursue a career as a lyricist anytime soon, (or ever,) but his silliness appeals to the nine year old girl in me, every time.