Years in, I still get nervous he’ll think I’m goofy.  Or not pretty.  Or too bossy.  Or not organized enough.  Like he’s surprised I’m those things, or I’m not.  Sometimes I still have to get brave to ask him, “kiss me! yes, now!”  and he looks at me askance when the camera’s on but he does it.

 

He’s got to wonder sometimes why his Papa wished the crazy lady on him, but he’s steady and stays in the fray and when I wonder how to keep going I watch him put his head down and keep going and even if he can’t say the words, I hear and tell myself too,  “I think I can”.

 

Sometimes life takes away the funny and I forget what laughter sounds like and he reminds me when he hands it out like a little surprise gift wrapped just for getting-through.

 

 

Sometimes I forget romance and Papa hands me kale salad and kitchen kisses and some kids going “eeeeew” and one capturing the moments on camera and savoring the good things she hopes she’ll take away.  And we savor them too.

 

 

He’s got the Servant’s heart and my inner dialogue may criticize him for not being as fast as me or a go-getter by my standards but the truth is, he’s the stabilizer that gives roots for my rapid-spreading branches, that helps trim back the wandering leaflets that would steal life from the main of our plant and helps fruit come from the mad rush I create.  He’s the steady to my speedy and the laughter to my sometimes-too-melancholy-dramatic (and I can sometimes draw that funny out of his melancholy too), and he’s the faithful when I’m bored after a few minutes of life-as-it-sometimes-is.

The truth is, he’s always willing to help me “make kale salad look romantic,” and he loves me when I’m goofy-bed-headed-bossy-scatterbrained-and-all-else-that-must’ve-surprised-him-when-reality-set-in.  and I love him right back.  Because love is kisses in the kitchen.  Even when he says I’ve made “weeds” on the menu.