Because it makes me look good showing everyone on social media what a dutiful, loving wife I am and it is not because we have had a row, I’m sulking and not talking to you. That was yesterday. Oh, I am a kidder, and soon, probably a divorcee.
Today is the Husband’s birthday. I’ve decided to keep his name out of my blog posts even though at this stage, my Father-in-law and best friend know his name (you’d certainly hope his Dad did otherwise there will be an awkward chat occurring in the in-laws’ house today). Oh, what’s that I hear? Other people are reading this? Cheers Facebook friends who also had no choice because I linked it all up. I digress, today’s post is not about me. Imagine that. It can happen.
Happy birthday husband! Consider this your card. Okay, we both know my militant organisational skills well enough to know that was purchased months ago. I’m trying to be witty here. Failing. Failing. Failed.
Today we celebrate my husband. Not just because he was born, although that is a very wonderful thing as otherwise I would have continued to hurtle my way towards ‘Crazy Cat Lady’ status. I was checking out kittens, slippers, alternative methods of acquiring Diazepam, and looking forward to never brushing my hair again.
Thank you husband for being born. Thank you Husband’s parents for creating him and bringing him into the world. Good job done there. ‘Nuff said about that.
Thank you Husband for being the most encouraging, caring and loving person I have ever encountered on this planet. This is no empty praise. Believe me, I’ve looked and met some gits along the way. You are so very opposite of this.
Thank you Husband for always being there. Thank you that within three months of meeting me, Mr. Depression Monster swept me up and threatened to take me away from you, so you decided to hop on for the whole excruciatingly painful ride. It was more than a rollercoaster. It was one of those dodgy fair rides you know is a barometer of old age when you find yourself saying, “You’ll never get me on one of those. Have you seen behind it? It’s held together with two nails and a Pritt Stick” With me, Super Budget Woman, it’s also about the fact that these rides cost nearly a tenner nowadays. How on earth did that happen? I could have sworn it was 50p last time the fair was in town, although it is entirely possible that I may be stuck in the 80s. Sorry Husband, once more I digress. Not about me, not about me…
Thank you Husband that you bought the notebook and fancy schmancy pen that set this writing in motion. Thank you that unlike many people, you did not continually make barbed comments regarding how I wasn’t using my Christmas present.
Thank you that you were genuinely excited when I first wrote in that notebook. It was just my name, but hey, it was a start. When you’re one of five children, you learn quickly to write your name on everything. Then you write your name over your siblings’ belongings, just to save time, as eventually it will be passed down to you anyway.
Thank you that you have given me the freedom of time and ease from worrying about work constraints, to be able to fully focus upon what others may see as a whim.
Thank you that you work so hard in your job to support us. Thank you for showing me how a job is done well, with skill and a giving heart. You count in your job, and in life, more than you know. You inspire more people because of your incredible Doctor skills than you know. You rock.
Thank you for listening to my endless writing excitements, worries, doubts and perceived triumphs. Thank you that you never appear to get bored of hearing it.
Thank you that sometimes you come home to my your ‘space cadet wife’ with her brain still ensconced in book world. Those characters are chatty and demanding little blighters.
Thank you for marrying me and helping my parents and those closest to me to breathe a sigh of relief that I didn’t become ‘Crazy Cat Lady’. What they don’t know is, you don’t have to be single to reach those dizzying heights. My plan for world cat domination, alongside you, my trusty sidekick, is in the plotting stages as I write.
Thank you for the chocolate and cheese-related products stored in a box labelled ‘Break in case of emergency’. Okay, that’s a lie, but how cool would that be? Thank you for feeding me. Yes ladies, my husband makes dinner every night. He’s a keeper. He can even spot signs of ‘hangry’* before they escalate and treat accordingly with pie.
Thank you Husband just for being you. I could not do this without you; functioning, hoping, being so incredibly loved, adored and feeling I can write. You give me the ability and confidence to be able to do that. It is no coincidence that I had not set this writing business in motion until I met you. You were the catalyst.
Happy birthday Husband. You’re my favourite.
It’s an in joke – nothing saucy I promise. For once, I am innocent.
* ‘hangry’ = anger induced by hunger. It’s a miserable business for all if not tended to immediately. We know. We have been there. We bear the scars.