Yesterday we celebrated my husband’s 40th birthday. After a morning meeting and a stop at a new specialty shop to pick up a birthday present for himself, Matt decided to scrap any more work for the day and spend the afternoon with our children and me. So he got to experience the more mundane things we and the kids do while he’s being Big Shot Media Relations Trainer Writer Guru Guy.
Like an eye doctor’s appointment for our daughter. For the record, on my 40th birthday, I’d rather spend those three hours getting a massage, manicure, and pedicure. I’m the self-centered selfish one of the duo.
Matt suggested we visit my recently widowed grandmother who turns 90 next month. We hadn’t visited in several months due to my lack of effort. So we headed on over to her home and Matt loaded her up with his attention and love, as he facilitated the conversation between our little ones and their great-grandma.
Later, Matt, the kids, and I went out for dinner. We came home, and as I lay down recovering from a carb coma induced by my rigatoni with spinach, ricotta, and marinara sauce, and chocolate-covered gelato size-of-an-orange ball, Matt, unbeknownst to me, cleaned our kitchen and got the kids ready for bed.
There are days when I wonder if Matt’s paying attention to anything that’s going on around him.
I wonder how he doesn’t see the papers and books piling on top of his dresser—s o high that they start tumbling down on to the ground.
I wonder how, even with a checklist, he can forget to pack socks for a family trip and has to resort to wearing mine for those four days.
I wonder how he buys a different butter than the one I explain (specifically) to buy.
And then, like yesterday, I am reminded that Matt is paying attention. He’s paying attention to what matters—people.
Thank you for nineteen years of “going steady”, fourteen of those as husband and wife, and five of those as “mommy” and “daddy”.
You light up my life. You’re my endless love. Your love knocks me off my feet.
And other sappy stuff that only a love song could express. And only people like Stevie Wonder can sing.
Happy Birthday My Love.