I need to take a minute to brag about this man God gave to me.  When we first met, I was coming off a long relationship and I was a little wary of anything male.  But the poor boy friended me anyways and followed my ridiculous rules (ask me about the hot tub nights sometime) and eventually he got more than friendship out of me.  He bought me dresses.  He flew to me and flew to me and flew to me.  He one morning woke to my phone call telling him I missed him and he hopped in his car and drove all day and night to see me.   Yes he did.

He proposed to me in a book store.

That line needed its own paragraph.  Not only did he propose to me in a bookstore, he hid love letters in books inside the book store AND THEN he gave me a book with a big fat ring inside it.  After which he proceeded to buy me another dress, take me to a Broadway and arrange a celebration night at the Davenport with friends.

That's just the beginning.  He let me get married in a barn.  He found a cute tiny apartment for us.  He moved all of my pretty things in a huge semi.  He bought a road bike.  And, after those first three months of marriage struggle (and they were a real struggle), he was still crazy about me.

This summer he bought me a house.  An old house.  A house that is in the city and not in the country.  A house that I'm not sure he would have picked without me.  But he did, he said yes to us both (the house and me).  And just last night he made a list of all of the house things he has to do because not only did he say yes to the house, he said yes to all of the house dreams and plans I have.

He keeps getting better.  This man who works so hard for me doesn't complain.  We lived large last weekend because it is the last weekend he is going to have for a while.  He is mister smarty pants and so he is contracting out to other plane companies.  On top of his full time job.  He is amazing.

Also, last night he watched BBC with me.  It's true.  And he told me my clumsy rusty piano playing sounded amazing.  He doesn't comment on my third night of sweatpants.  He does things like ride 150 miles in one day and run 13 miles farther than either of us want to because I like pain, clearly.  He tells me to buy plane tickets home.  He picks my favorite songs for Sunday mornings.  He prays.  Oh, he prays.  He prays and I grow.  Jesus, help us to live like we're saved.  He lets me eat breakfast in the living room while he eats it in the dining room because he knows I can't talk in the morning without sinning.  He listens to me vent and rant and giggle over my kids.

He listens to me.

And I don't tell him enough how over heels I am for him.  I don't swoon enough for him.  I don't welcome him home like he's the best part of my day even though he is.  

Today I'm going to be waiting at the door for him to come home and I am going to kiss that boy so hard.