A Letter to My Bed Making, Spider Killing Husband

Dearest Troy,

I love you so much. You made me so happy yesterday. You did your honey-do list and then more. You put together the patio furniture and had dinner (complete with fall decorations) ready out on the porch. And a glass of wine waiting for me. Of all the days to fill out my first incident report at work (why yes, a completely naked 250 lb woman fell doing therapy with me in the shower...so awkward) it had to be the 10 hour shift. Sigh. There are so many things that I love about you that I decided I was going to list them out for all the world to see.

You follow my very NOT weird bed making rule. You know that I FREAK out if the bed is not made. You understand that a family of spiders will lay eggs and they will hatch in the 16 hours we are out of bed and have a spider party in the bed that will be in full swing when we go to bed later that night. You understand that the bunnies made of dust will breed and make baby dust bunnies on our pillows. You know that Optimus will rub his nasty dog butt on the sheets in the place we place our heads at night. I mean, I think you know all this. Or you fake it really well. Either way, you humor my weirdness and make the bed for all the aforementioned reasons that are totally true.

You put your hand over my mouth or yell at me to shut up in the middle of the night when I start talking crazy. Like the time I was yelling and you put your hand over my mouth and were all "SHHHHHHHHHH" like I would hear you or remember it. Or when you pushed me off of you when I dreamed that Avery was your thigh and I tried (not so delicately) to pull her (your leg) out from under your body (or out of your hip socket) because you were suffocating her. True story. Or when I was in OT school and would practice my range of motion techniques on you in the middle of the night. You supported my education with that midnight study session.

You love all of my girly shows on the DVR even though you pretend like they get on your nerves. I love that you pretend like they annoy you because they are so bad. But honey, I got you figured out. You love Intervention and Hoarders. Except for maybe the episode where the lady saved all of her poop and pee from her lifetime in jars in the house and then you were gagging. I was too. Yuck. Either way, I know you look forward to it. And you watch Grey's Anatomy with me. I know it's not what it used to be, but I love your faithfulness to it even though it's not as awesome as the first 3 seasons. I know you love my shows because if I watch them without you, you get all butt hurt about watching them by yourself later. I know it's because you want to spend time with me. But also because you really love my shows :)

You put up with my thrifting. You understand that it's my favorite kind of alone time. I know it's a problem. You know I love Craigslist. And stopping to look at things on the side of the road that say "free." You let me have alone time at Goodwill or Salvation Army and watch Avery so I can dig through other peoples' cast offs by myself. You support my weird habit of bringing things home and painting/refinishing/repurposing some weird crap. You're the best. Even though I should have that bumper stick that says "I brake for yard sales." Or just free junk on the side of the road. I'm not proud of it, but I have actually dug through a dumpster with Shannon. And now we have no secrets. Love you!

I love that you know what scares me. And that I would consider setting a house on fire just to kill a spider. Or that people touching eye balls makes me gag. It could to be someone else's, mine, or their own. Any eyeball touching makes me gag. I love that you don't your contacts in when I'm standing at the sink. Or that the sound/smell/sight of anything to do with vomit makes me vomit. Or that wet eggs in the sink are the worst thing EVER to put in the garbage disposal. The thought of it is making my skin crawl. I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.

You are good at so many things that I am not good at. Maybe I should rephrase that. You do so many things that I just don't want to do. You pick up dog poop. And you clean the toilets. And you spray the poop off Avery's diapers, even when it's my turn to change her. You take out the trash and recycling. You empty Avery's diaper genie. You make bacon while I'm not home so I don't have to smell it and barf. Sacrilegious I know, but the smell of COOKING bacon is disgusting. And if you can't make bacon, you eat facon (fake bacon) so that I don't have to smell it. You're the best.

You are such a good Dad. You make the silliest faces for Avery. And sing her the best made up songs while she's taking a bath. Every morning when I get her out of bed and say "Good Morning," she's all "Dada?" Like she's wondering why you aren't there to say good morning too. And then I'm all "he's at work, you can play when he gets home" and she nods like she really understands. And then right when she hears the garage door open she's like "DADADA!!!!" all excited and starts waddling to the door. The second you walk in she's like, "hi" all shy. It's so cute. She just wants you for your flight suit patches and pens. I kid. Sort of.

The letter has gotten a little longer than I thought it would be when I started, but either way, it shows how much I love you. I love you more than I love back rubs. So you know it's a lot.

I know your schedule change is about to suck hard. I'll read this list when I get upset about it and feel better :)

Love you