**WARNING** (ADULT CONTENT HERE, PEOPLE)

This morning my little (ok, so he isn't so little) baby woke me up a bit earlier than I wanted to wake up. I nursed him and laid him back down to bed. I climbed back into bed. Brent was getting dressed, and I had run out of water. He filled up my glass, setting it on the nightstand, and then started to tuck the blankets in around me, finishing with a kiss (and leaving me all giddy inside.......with looooo-oooove, no seriously people, I loooove it when he takes care of me like that.) As I lay there hoping to take a quick 30 minute nap, I couldn't help but think about how much I love my husband. I feel the need to insert this now, before I go any farther: I am not perfect. He is not perfect. We often disagree. And we both have annoying habits. I love the little things he does for me - those little things are what makes me feel that he actively loves me and cares for me. I love his little boy grin. I love his touch - when he grabs my butt (hehe) or touches my arm or leg in affection, when he rubs my back and especially my feet. His touch makes me believe in the healing power of the human touch. It could make me weep for little babies who never get held, for children who never get hugs. I love going to bed with him beside me every night (even if I only give him a full 5 inches of prime-mattress real estate......which he lovingly forgives me for, night after night.) I love (actually I hate it, but you'll get the point) kissing him goodbye every morning. I watch the clock starting about 5pm, knowing he's driving home and I can't wait for him to get here already! When he's with me, I feel safe and secure. Now, before you go thinking that I am a dependent, insipid, cliche female, I JUST FINISHED SHOVELING SNOW OFF OUR ENTIRE DRIVEWAY. (Beat that, suckas.)
I love the way he loves our children. All of life's cares seem to float away when I catch (what sometimes seems very rare) glimpses of oh-so-worth-it moments in our little family's lives: reading the same four books night after night, sometimes substituting wrong words here and there......the laughter that ensues is the best medicine for my soul. I love the way that he would let the boys stay up forever if I wasn't there to tell him to "put them to bed already." The way that he loves giving them special treats (read: junk food.) I love to watch them wrestle, or to jump on the trampoline - again, the laughter is soothing to my wearied soul. I love to see how he can get my two oldest sons to work together to build something, rather than the usual fighting. I just love him. This isn't to say that again, we don't disagree - we do. Especially when I've hit the Nordstrom Shoe Sale (hehe.) But there are truly times that I find myself overwhelmed with the love I have for him. I can't imagine a life without him. I want to grow old with him (but I am selfish, I want to go first, because I can't imagine ever going to bed without him.)

p.s. Oh yeah, I almost forgot to mention: he finally changed the thermostat to 71.....gosh, I love him!