April 26, 2011

Perfect imperfection

My husband doesn’t listen. He read some research somewhere that basically said the typical key and rhythm of a woman’s speech patterns make it sound like soothing background music to a male mind. This results in them tuning out a large part of any conversation. So, biologically, he’s not responsible. (I question this VIGOROUSLY. Unfortunately, he doesn’t hear me.) My husband pouts and excels at passive aggressive tantrums when the moment strikes. He will probably never get the hang of planning a date for us without my provocation. He stays up too late and then grumps in the morning about being tired. After 9 years (and three children) together, he still won’t kiss me until after we’ve both brushed our teeth.

He also empties the diaper pail without ever being asked. He lets me sleep in almost every weekend and then makes me a PERFECT cappuccino when I come downstairs. He sometimes sends me out, kid-less, to “go do my thing”, whatever that may be. There are times when he laughs so hard that his whole face turns red and his eyes tear up. He taught me to cook and enjoy the intricacies of wine. He endures my pent up outbursts and drama with barely an eye blink. When I apologize afterwards, he almost always says, “What? I didn’t even notice”. He is devoted to family, mine and his, without a second thought because, “that’s just what you do”. He is an amazing father, in every way a man can be.

I have never once, EVER, had to tell him to put the toilet seat down.

In the book, “Olivia”, by Ian Falconer, Olivia is a typical little kid. She has tantrums, makes messes, lives within a vivid imagination, dresses up constantly and doesn’t want to take a nap. Because of these things, and in spite of these things, she’s a much loved child to tolerant and amused parents.

In the final scene at bedtime, her mother tucks her in and says, “Good night, Olivia. You know, you really wear me out. But I love you anyway”. To which Olivia responds, “I love you anyway, too”.

For me, that’s real love. It’s honest, all the spangles and starry-eyed bullshit scraped away. Kurt will probably never stop hiding my purse throughout the day and I will probably never stop leaving it hanging on chairs or shoved against the couch on the floor. I am sure, given the exciting opportunity, he could EASILY come up with his own laundry list of my irritating habits. But it doesn’t matter. We love each other anyway.

You can’t ask for more than that.

3 comments:

A Frog named Lisa said...

We love that book too, and that type of love. :)

Alison said...

Indeed. If you have communication... and love, you have it all.

Eric said...

Doesn't that just sum up marriage perfectly? Love it!