We just had our third anniversary.
I can tell my husband anything. Anything. If it comes to my brain, I can say it. He doesn’t get jealous, he doesn’t get angry, he doesn’t get annoyed, he doesn’t get bored. It’s amazing to be listened to.
He never gets angry with me. No matter what I do or don’t do. He might get exasperated when I pull certain stunts, but he never gets angry. That’s a major relief to me. My parents weren’t abusive, but there was always a lot of yelling in the house and walking on egg-shells–no matter what I did, my parents were never pleased. I’ve been married and otu of the houes for three years, and I’m still not accustomed to not being yelled at. He never even sorta raises his voice.
He tells me I’m beautiful every single day. His goal is to convince me one day. I’m almost there. He tells me every day and means it.
He likes to spoon with me. He cuddles with me every single night–it’s his favorite sleeping position. It makes me feel warm and safe and secure.
When I’m in school, he cooks dinner for me every night.
He takes care of the laundry because I don’t like to lug all the clothes to the laundromat.
He makes the best margaritas.
He made it possible for me to go to school full time.
He encouraged me to stay home this summer and focus on writing because he knows how much it means to me. He’d rather be poor and let me be happy than be moderately comfortable and make me miserable.
He’ll talk to my mother and sister for me so I don’t have to deal with his crap. He’ll happily absorb it.
He watched Buffy and Angel with me every single week and is always eager to have a discussion on the nature of souls in the Whedonverse, the difference between Spike and Angel, what a bitch Buffy is, etc etc.
He makes me laugh.
This list is getting really long. I could go on forever. I guess what it comes down to that he loves me so completely and thoroughly that I’m still not used to it.
