Good morning, on just any old Wednesday.
Bean's at Art Camp and Peabody's taking his morning nap, and I'm sitting here at the kitchen counter finishing up a cup of coffee that got cold while I was busy feeding and cleaning and dressing our lively little children.
It's so quiet and peaceful, the low hum of the fridge punctuated only by the clicking of the keys on my laptop. I'm looking around at this home we've built together.
And all I can think of is how much I love and treasure you.
Just on a Wednesday morning.
Ten years ago on a Wednesday morning, I'd have been sitting at my standard-issue desk in front of my standard-issue computer talking about mutual funds and discount commissions, filling out paperwork, droning on about risk, asset allocation, and average annual returns, and I'd hit "Print" on my computer and get up from my functional blue and black plastic chair to walk to the back room to grab a receipt off the networked laser printer.
On my way, I'd pass your office window and glance inside to see you sitting there in your white shirt and your green tie. And you might look up at me or you might not, but just seeing you there'd make me happy and glad to be at work.
But I didn't love you then.
I just enjoyed your company because you were fun, and funny, and warm, and genuine, and a really great boss.
Ten-plus years later, you're still all those things (although you do an admirable job of making me feel like I'm the boss around here) AND you're also mine. My best friend. My most-trusted. My home.
When I retrace the steps between those days I could look to the right and see your jacket-sleeve through the window of your office, and these days when I can look to the right and see your sweet head on the pillow beside mine, I'm still amazed and humbled.
Your wit - the same wit that teased and inspired me through years of studying, multiple licensing exams and career transitions - is the gentle, surprising humor that diffuses the tension and tiredness built into house-wifery.
That face that used to pump me up over coffee and bagels before the sun rose in Midtown Atlanta's the one that brings me peace and restfulness as we eat dinner at sunset in Prairietown, Illinois.
The hands that worked good-naturedly beside me when the lobby filled up day after day with feisty AT&T employees wanting to sell their two shares of stock are the same ones that held mine so tightly to keep me focused and strong and safe as I delivered our two beautiful babies.
Back then, you unfailingly helped navigate me to places I wanted to go.
Now, you're simply and unfailingly The Place I Want to Be.
On just an ordinary Wednesday.
And every single other day.
I love you,