I had a very bad day today, and I internalized. I sulked and brooded and moped and complained and whined.
So what did my wife Catherine do? She probably hugged me 10 times, told me she loved me 15 times, reminded me of how lucky I am to have two beautiful children and that, materialism be damned, we are blessed (a word I probably don’t use often enough) to have found each other.
I see other marriages, and oftentimes I don’t get them. Either the man and woman have completely different interests, or they play the dominant (usually the male) and secondary role, where the woman—even in 2009—does the laundry, makes the food, vacuums, etc. My wife and I, however, are truly a team. We raise our kids together, run the house together. She cooks, I do laundry and dishes. She does my daughter’s hair and cuts my son’s nails, I give the baths and tell the stories and sing Blind Melon’s “Change” to my son every … single … night (great tune, but I’m a wee-bit sick of it). My wife is neat (except when she leaves her unwashed bowls in the sink, which drives me crazy) and I’m a semi-slob (which drives her crazy). My wife does this wacky high-pitched shout that causes our dog Norma to rush to her. I try, and Norma just looks at me like she’s on Ecstacy. I just don’t get it—the dog knows I’m calling her, hears me blaring her stinkin’ name, yet sits there and just … wait, I digress …
I’d say my wife’s greatest gift is, 99% of the time, she knows exactly what to say. I mean, exactly. If I need an ass kick, she delivers it on point. If I need affection, she’s there. I used to think, “I hope I end up with someone truly special,” and I really have.
It’s an honor to be married to her.
* Side note: As weird as this sounds, I never, ever call my wife “Catherine,” and she never, ever calls me “Jeff.” On our fourth date we went bowling, and she said I should pick out a bowling name. I selected “Earl,” and she asked whether she’s Earl or I’m Earl. Ever since that day, we’ve called one another “Earl.”
