Seventy Three

Love Flourishes Print
(Jellybeans Etsy Shop)

I'm still smiling about a call I heard that came into the Delilah show last week. A pleasant-voiced, thirty-something year old woman called in to wish her grandparents a happy anniversary. The part I'm still smiling (and marveling) about is that it was their SEVENTY THIRD one!

Incredible.

They still live alone (he's ninety five and she's almost ninety,) and he brings her a glass of orange juice and a kiss every morning.

Sweet.

We're approaching five years married--pale and shrively juxtaposed beside seventy three, but a milestone nonetheless. In preparation, I'm freshening up on my Nurse Goodbody skills as Nate goes in for some pretty major nose/sinus surgery tomorrow. I think the next few days will be the perfect prelude to our anniversary. Because really, what's marriage about if not to care for each other when ailing and gauze-filled and consigned to a several-day period of exclusive mouth-breathing?

Nate's a dear heart. He presented me with a very sweet (and very unexpected) "Thanks in advance for taking such good care of me" gift last night -- something I've had my eye on for quite a while now. (*Note: if you want to receive exactly what you desire, it works really well to tell your husband exactly what you want instead of expecting him to play the part of charming clairvoyant and guess after your picky heart's desires. Don't know why it's taken me the better part of five years to figure this out.)

I initially thought it was pretty clever of him to gift me in advance -- a princely way to ensure attentive bedside care, no? Turns out, Henry was present at the time of purchase and Nate just wanted to reveal the gift's identity before Mr. ProneToPrematureDisclosure did. As much as we giggled and eye-rolled about Henry's anxiousness to spoil the surprise, Nate's never been great at waiting to divulge the results of his charming ventures either. I find his eagerness endearing and adorably childlike.

I've got a chronic prayer in my heart that this surgery is complication-less because our love and its byproducts are the best things I have going in my life. And I want at least sixty eight more mortal years of it all.

In the mean time, any tips on caring for the afflicted? How do you like to be pampered when you're sick?