The subject of this blog is usually the little man in the foreground,  and rarely the bigger version in the background.  This week, be it that Valentine's Day just pasted, I'm getting older and more reflective, or being laid out flat with the stomach bug two different times over the past four weeks,  I've been thinking a lot about him and what having him in my life truly means to me.  

We bicker, argue, annoy and sometimes truly grate on each others nerves.  The best part about all of those things is that once we actually admit it to each other, we seem to feel better and move past it immediately.  I've realized over the past few months of being stretched thin, exhausted and pushed physically beyond my capabilities that even then he still makes me laugh and smile.  We crack each other up with the silliest of statements, and can make fun of ourselves and each other without being resentful.  I've lost it with him on more than one occasion, and if I could take it all back I would.    I'm sitting here happy that he's out being social and having fun with friends  (I'm sure that is a bit of story swapping going on about pestering wives or the like) but I miss him and am looking forward to him coming home so I can tell him that.

My definition of what it means to be a mom has expanded with children in my life, but my understanding about my part of this husband and wife combo has just busted wide open over the past two and half years.  I could gush over all of his wonderful qualities, but the one that continues to amaze me is how he so willingly is able to step and keep this ship from sinking regardless of the timing or situation.  I have no idea how he is able to do it, but I can't express to him enough how much it means to me or how much I love him for it.