It’s Valentine’s day today, and so I chose to write about Stephen, whom I love to teeny, tiny bits. Because he’s awesome, and he deserves a pile of words that tell him so. I’m a little worried, though, that if you’re single or not in the mood to believe in/read about love, you’re going to be bummed out now. And I don’t really like that idea. So, I found this thing on the internet. Just for you. It’s pictures of cat heads (and one dog head) shoved through bread products. God bless the freaking internet. Go look at it. I’ll wait.
…Okay, now that you’re feeling happy, here’s a gooey pile of love mush in honor of my incredi-husband:
Me: You’re my favorite person. You’re the best man on the planet.
Stephen: Thanks, honey.
Me: You make me believe there’s at least one other good man out there.
Me: He probably got in a car accident just now.
In light of recent times, struggles, et cetera…this conversation is actually saying a lot. It’s hard to believe in the goodness of men when you’re reading about pimps, prostitutes, and the men that buy them (read here and here if you’re wondering why I’m doing that). So, the fact that my husband is so wonderful that he makes me believe that there might be one other good man out there is significant. Even if I think that one other good man got in a car accident, so we’re back down to just one good man. (For the record, I know a good deal of good men. I do. I’m VERY thankful for you all, okay? Good.)
But my husband is the best man on the planet. He’s amazing. He’s smart and attractive and kind. He does the dishes every day (because I hate them. And I’m lazy. And he’s a little compulsive about it and could never wait around for me to get to it.). He also vacuums. He loves our kid. And he loves me. He’s unbelievably creative. And talented. And dedicated. He believes in the goodness of the world, and he gets sad when that goodness falters.
Let’s be clear, though: he’s not a perfect man. That’s not a thing. It doesn’t exist. See, he also falls asleep sometimes when we’re watching TV together, or sometimes when we’re talking. And once in a bar. I think he might have a mild case of narcolepsy. When he gets frustrated he pouts around like Charlie Brown—it’s sincerely absurd. He gets super weird in emergency situations (like the other day when our kid dropped a big heavy thing on her toe and I needed a band-aid—sheesh! Pandemonium!). And sometimes when he hurts my feelings he gets so mad and panicked and turned around that his apology hurts worse than whatever he did in the first place.
But I don’t care about any of those things. Those things are normal, and human, and everyone has them. Plus, my list of weird things is way longer than his. By a lot.
He’s not a perfect man, but he is perfect for me. Perfect. I love him more than anyone else in the world. He is, truly, my favorite person. He’s who I always want to be with. He made me love from a place in my heart that I didn’t know existed. I thought happy marriages were impossible. I thought that a loving, life-long commitment was a myth; like leprechauns or unicorns or non-pervy-looking mustaches. But what we have together proves me wrong every day. Every. single. day.
So, for that (and a MILLION other reasons), I say, “Happy Valentine’s day, Mr. Crutchfield. You’re swell.” And to all the rest of you out there, I hope that love, in its many beautiful, bizarre, frustrating and ridiculous forms, finds its way to your door. Happy Valentine’s day to you, too!
p.s. – I really wanted to put this video up there, but it has two cuddling animals, and if you’re REALLY bummed out about Valentine’s day I didn’t want you to be like, “Ohmigosh, even those two animals have each other! Sad face! Quiver lip!” so I didn’t put it up there. But I am putting it down here. It’s not that I don’t care about you and your feelings. I do. I promise. But this video is too crazy to pass up! The animals are cute, but the music! It’s nutballs! I love it. I’m going to sing it all day. Stephen will love that at dinner tonight. I’m a pleasure to be around, y’all. A real gem.