Well, this seems a bit backwards considering that my husband doesn’t read this blog… (perhaps, I will print him a copy.)  All the same, here I am to wish him a happy birthday.

To my husband: You are my favorite person in the world.  Your awkwardness around elevators makes me shake my head smile.  You are also quite tall, which is both attractive and has come in handy on numerous occasions.  You fret about your curly hair on a daily basis (it truly has a mind of it’s own and you should just give up now.)  Your frugal nature has led to many memorable domestic trips in the lower forty-eight states.

I love that you can tell me exactly what I was wearing on our first date, and that you brought me to a gay bar where the bouncer caressed your soft hand.  Your intense fear of spiders, snakes, and sloths will always fascinate me.  You are so considerate to coordinate your panic attacks around mine.

I knew I loved you forever when you visited me at the orphanage in Miacatlan.  Before I could hug you, there were twenty girls surrounding you and calling you papa.  For that short time, you played and spoke in broken Spanish and were a complete joy for those girls.

Instead of bringing me roses, you gave them to my twenty-one girls.  Most had never received flowers in their life.  Instead of just leaving them in the vase, they insisted on carrying them around in coke bottles for two days straight.

You are a dedicated husband and friend, an excellent athlete, and a strong-willed individual. You are intelligent and handsome and the funniest person I know.  I can’t wait to be your old lady, drinking Ovaltine and watching you play jokes on the grandchildren.  I don’t tell you these things enough… but I love you and can’t wait to continue this adventure with you.  Here’s to many more roses in coke bottles.