It's Schmoopsie's birthday today. I thought about listing all the reasons I love him, but figured it'd go on and on and be boring and also sappy and make people want to gag and roll their eyes. I also considered listing 26 of his quirks (like how he schedules his bathroom trips, for example) (5:22 pm, in case you were wondering) but decided that would embarrass him.
So instead, I'll straighten just up the house and iron some of his shirts and whip up some Thai Peanut Pasta for his birthday dinner and hope that he knows how very much I love him. He is the ballast in my ship, the anchor of my heart, the string for my kite.
I am many things: a daughter, a friend, an aunt, sister, granddaughter, social worker, a crazy person. I have degrees and licenses and letters after my name. He made me the two things I am most proud of in the world: a wife, and a mother. He gave me his heart and our child; somehow a pair of Nikes and some peanuts in his pasta seem a little underwhelming.
(Notwithstanding the love affair I have with peanuts in my pasta.)