Ode to B

Dear Brig

I only have a few minutes before our teenage two year old and our perfect new baby wake up, but I wanted to tell you how much I appreciate you and missed you while you were away. (I am doing so on our blog because you can make these things into books and so I am trying to put stuff in the boys will want to have someday. Family history, you know . . .)

So, back to the point: I really missed you this last business trip. You say that I really just miss the child-care help. Sure, I admit it. But there is so much more to our marriage.

Like housework. Even though the girls did all my dishes after Sarah's baby shower yesterday, it just wasn't the same. I need YOU to do them.

And an apology. Yes, I know I call you and get annoyed because I can't tell whether you have a heartbeat or not, but I have finally realized you are telling the truth about the connection just being bad and that you can only hear every third word and are never sure what I am saying and when you are supposed to respond. I guess I should have realized this earlier, since I hate talking on the phone to non-family members in our apartment for the reason that the conversations go awkwardly due to bad reception. I just expect more of you. It was not until I had this problem last night while talking to an old friend who mumbles and for some reason does not talk into the receiver, and who therefore left me guessing as to what the heck he was saying, that I understood your predicament. Luckily for me, it was not socially acceptable for my friend to get bugged at me about my (quite desperate) nonresponsiveness, as I do at you. Did.

Even more than the Andrew night-duty you so stalwartly handle each pre crack of dawn, I missed your sense of humor. It is your sense of humor that can turn my irritation (towards you, towards the world) into more mild irritation.

I still laugh out loud when I remember you comforting me that our wedding photos of me are not bad (they are) by saying "You look beautiful. I look like I should barely be allowed to drive." Somehow, this is so much funnier than the old "I look retarded" routine.

I also like to think about you telling me, after a recent adventure to Hair Cuttery, where anything could happen to you hair, and has, that this was the shortest your hair had been since you were 8 months old. (I like it, btw).

And you have made so much progress in the last four years. Remember when you did not know better than to tell me an actress was good looking (I will hate Audrey Tatoo forever!), or make a similar comment about my hairstylist (that's right, Lindsay, I know you remember this)? My jealousy has been turned away through a combination of realizing that you just like women who look like you with a wig (this says nothing about me) and your new-found silence on the subject of the attractiveness of other clearly attractive women. Good job. Also, you eat all my food with the expected compliments, you help me pick out good shoes, you never get upset with me about spending money (I am good about this, but I also don't feel pressure from you to be so), and you try to get me to Church for the first hour without being completely self-righteous. Just a quiet and sincere: "I would sort of like to take the sacrament this month," to get me out of bed. My dad commented last night that you were the one man who could make even the neediest, most helpless woman on earth happy in marriage. I choose to ignore what he could be saying about me, here, and instead focus on the compliment to you.

Thank you for always maintaining your sense of humor, and helping me keep mine, for supporting me through everything, and for letting me get away with so much. We have fun, and you're for me and I'm for you, and even if you accidentally said that loving me was not easier than anythign you'll ever do again, I know that deep down, it really is.

So, these words are yours, and be the measure of their worth for you to treasure, the measure of the little while that you were long away.

xo
alexandra