Crazy about him

So. This post is about F. My lovely, darling, ruggedly sexy, crazy smart, and stoic F. Many of you know him. Or think you do. But I’ve lived with him for 12 years and it’s been 14 since our first date and I KNOW this man. And as awesome as you might think he is. . .you are wrong. He is more awesome.

I often blog (well, not too often lately – I’ve been a slacker blogger) about our children, or my subscriptions to crazytown. But the glue that holds us all together when I go off the rails. . .the cornerstone to keeping our kids happy and yet disciplined. . .the magic X factor that truly makes our family work. ..that is F. And over the years there are things I’ve learned about him, that I decided I needed to take the time to write down. Maybe not for your sake, my lovely readers. . .but for mine. To remember. To appreciate. To cherish.

F is a fantastic provider for our family. His job does not define him. His job does not even fulfill him. But he works at it diligently, his employer thinks he hung the moon, he treats those under him with respect and concern, while making it clear that his family time is not up for compromise. Vacation time? Not negotiable. And while I know that he doesn’t love his job – he works hard at it, to provide for us.

F is the best father and the best daddy our children could ever have. He often talks to them about the different roles he plays: the father who teaches, corrects, disciplines; and the daddy who plays, giggles, snuggles. And he is phenomenal at both. The girls love and adore him – not just because he is their father, but because of who he is, and his awesomeness.

F is not a good nurse. If you are sick, need someone to coddle you, clean up your vomit and wipe your runny nose – I suggest you look elsewhere. He does not do this. Just stop asking! He will however, take care of the dishes, the laundry, the trash, the kids and the pets while you wallow in your misery. I have never recovered from some illness to discover that the house went to hell in a handbasket while I slept. He takes care of everything else and I know to take care of myself. Do I think if I were bleeding from a gaping wound, that he would fail to try to help me? Of course not. But as long as I’m capable of stopping the bleeding myself – he’ll stop the bleeding that would have otherwise occurred in the household.

F keeps his word and sticks to his responsibilities and obligations. Even if it is not fun, not easy, not convenient. Even if it is decidedly hard, horrible, heinous. If F tells you he will do something, or be somewhere, or provide you with something – you can take that sucker to the bank – because F will make sure it happens. There have been times in our marriage where F keeping his word drove me crazy – because it made life hard, horrible, heinous for both of us – but the integrity that he carries cannot be outmatched.

F stands by his friends and loves them. F doesn’t use the word “love” very much. Especially not with anyone besides our kids. But he loves his friends – helps them when they need it, kicks their butts when they need it, stands beside them no matter what. Some people are fickle friends, and come into your life for a short while, before moving on. F does not do this in any way – if you become friends with him, a true friend – it is a lifetime commitment.

F adores it when I cook. Truly. Not just because it means he didn’t have to – but he understands the love that I put into cooking for the family. It makes me warm and fuzzy to watch him enjoy something that I’ve prepared and to know that he loves it. I don’t remember the last time I made something out of a box mix – all homemade and yummy goodness – because he doesn’t really like processed food. Truly. I once made a batch of cookies from a mix and didn’t tell him. I thought he wouldn’t notice. . .he took one bite and made a little wrinkly nose face and said gently, “eeeh. . .not your best. But thanks for the thought.” I don’t think he ate even one more of that batch of cookies. I swear, it is like he can taste something I’ve made and discern if it was made with love or haste. . .and those made with love taste much better to him.

F also knows when I’ve reached my limit and it is time to call in reinforcements – either help with the laundry and cleaning, or a call to have dinner delivered, or a night without kids. He sees when I start to get weary, and he steps in to keep me sane. He may not understand what it is that has made me weary at that moment, but he sees the warning signs and works to avoid the coming crisis. If for some reason, the crisis occurs anyway – he lets me process through it – crying if I need to, manically wiping the baseboards with a Clorox wipe if I need to, or huddling under the covers with a book and a beer if I need to.

F loves me. God knows why – but the man loves me. The things that he does (see above), he does largely out of his love for me. And while there are days when I wish he would take me by the hand, and look me in the eye, and tell me how much he loves me and how beautiful and marvelous and wonderful I am, I know that really – the things he does, speak much louder than anything he could ever put to voice. F loves me. And I’m just crazy about him.