Once a Sap, Always a Sap
I'm always good for a cry. Not one of those sobbing let downs that give you the icky squished face because you are so upset you can't handle yourself. No. I mean, the after-a-good-movie cry. Or the one after you give birth to a child and you just can't utter a word worth a grain a salt. Or say, you're so proud of your baby/sibling/spouse you just can't express it any other way. Those are the cries I am talking about. The good ones.
So, in my effort, to make Father's Day special for the The Husband, I bought him the Gift He Always Wanted. Well, this year. One we planned he's get for his birthday in July--but a few months early. Not so much a surprise I suppose, but a gift he loves nonetheless (and yes, the sacrilege, he's had the gift since Friday night. Hell, what good is a gift if you can't enjoy it ALL weekend long?).
Anyway, with this gift I had intended on writing him a letter. A sappy one. I admit, I wanted to invoke tears of the good variety. But not because I like to see a good man cry. Because, honestly, being caught up in the day to day of our lives, tends to make me forget all the little things that make me love the man. Sure, I say, "I Love You," each morning, and most nights (if I don't fall asleep with The Peanut). And all the times in between.
I wanted to share all the moments over the past year that have made him, My Man. My Husband. The Dude to which I owe a bit of who I am to each and every day. Without him, well... I wouldn't be the same me. Sound sappy enough? It is. Because marriages are like that. Even when you get ticked off for the seventh time in two days because he left his pants at the end of the bed again. I still love him, and can't imagine a day going by without him by my side. Which, brings me again to the letter I have yet to write.
I'm a writer. So, in my feeble mind, I figured this is one of the best gifts I could give him. A letter, written by me, for him, about us. All of us. The children, me, him, life... how I appreciate him and want to be his rock as much as he is for me. Sap, sap, and sap. But with the best laid grand plans--I failed. Friday was to be the day of writing. I had my afternoon blocked off from work to dedicate a little writing time to The Sap Letter. Only work got in the way. Then nap time. Then a couple nebulizer treatments for my son. Tears that we weren't signing up for T-Ball. And then a meltdown from the baby. Sound ridiculous that all can happen in two hours? Then maybe you aren't a parent of two young ones, because it is exactly what happened.
And I was left Friday afternoon at 8pm, when my husband walked in the door from work, with an overly priced purchased card from Target, and a handwritten note on the inside that was about 10 sentences long (give or take a few). It had just as much heart and soul poured into the words (in fact The Kiddo asked why it was taking me so long to write the card), but it wasn't The Letter.
So my plans tomorrow? To get that Letter written. Or drafted. Or at least bulleted out onto some form of a document so when I do find the time, I really can write it the way it was meant to be. And slip it in that secret pocket for my husband to read when he least expects it. And hopefully shed some of those happy tears. Because, to me, then he knows that we all do love him. But especially me. Even when I forget to tell him.
So, in my effort, to make Father's Day special for the The Husband, I bought him the Gift He Always Wanted. Well, this year. One we planned he's get for his birthday in July--but a few months early. Not so much a surprise I suppose, but a gift he loves nonetheless (and yes, the sacrilege, he's had the gift since Friday night. Hell, what good is a gift if you can't enjoy it ALL weekend long?).
Anyway, with this gift I had intended on writing him a letter. A sappy one. I admit, I wanted to invoke tears of the good variety. But not because I like to see a good man cry. Because, honestly, being caught up in the day to day of our lives, tends to make me forget all the little things that make me love the man. Sure, I say, "I Love You," each morning, and most nights (if I don't fall asleep with The Peanut). And all the times in between.
I wanted to share all the moments over the past year that have made him, My Man. My Husband. The Dude to which I owe a bit of who I am to each and every day. Without him, well... I wouldn't be the same me. Sound sappy enough? It is. Because marriages are like that. Even when you get ticked off for the seventh time in two days because he left his pants at the end of the bed again. I still love him, and can't imagine a day going by without him by my side. Which, brings me again to the letter I have yet to write.
I'm a writer. So, in my feeble mind, I figured this is one of the best gifts I could give him. A letter, written by me, for him, about us. All of us. The children, me, him, life... how I appreciate him and want to be his rock as much as he is for me. Sap, sap, and sap. But with the best laid grand plans--I failed. Friday was to be the day of writing. I had my afternoon blocked off from work to dedicate a little writing time to The Sap Letter. Only work got in the way. Then nap time. Then a couple nebulizer treatments for my son. Tears that we weren't signing up for T-Ball. And then a meltdown from the baby. Sound ridiculous that all can happen in two hours? Then maybe you aren't a parent of two young ones, because it is exactly what happened.
And I was left Friday afternoon at 8pm, when my husband walked in the door from work, with an overly priced purchased card from Target, and a handwritten note on the inside that was about 10 sentences long (give or take a few). It had just as much heart and soul poured into the words (in fact The Kiddo asked why it was taking me so long to write the card), but it wasn't The Letter.
So my plans tomorrow? To get that Letter written. Or drafted. Or at least bulleted out onto some form of a document so when I do find the time, I really can write it the way it was meant to be. And slip it in that secret pocket for my husband to read when he least expects it. And hopefully shed some of those happy tears. Because, to me, then he knows that we all do love him. But especially me. Even when I forget to tell him.
Labels: holiday, life, The Husband, writing
