Happy Birthday, Husband!

I had to laugh the other day when you were at the wheel of our mobile bread box (minivan) and started shimmeying in the middle of the road. Remember? You spotted a tennis ball in the middle of the road, and when I looked at you, incredulous, I asked "What are you doing?"

And you giggled like a little boy and protested, "I can't help it! Tin cans...tennis balls...anything in the road like that, I have to try to run it over!" I imagine you were a pretty entertaining little boy. I wonder: did your mother delight in your antics like we do our "little brains?"

It was ironic to catch you being so playful because this week you're turning 48! Yes, you are the man! It was also 19 years ago this day that you forwarded your super-secret, 24-hour, studio hotline number to me, in hopes that I would call you after night school and accept a date with you. Do you recall that Rick and Ed tried to pay you $20 to date me? Do you still promise you didn't take it? Because if you did, I should really get half, don't you think?

I was excited to call you, but you were gone by the time I did. When I heard you on-air the next day, I called you again. You were in the middle of being filmed by an ABC news crew who needed some footage of a moment of silence being observed for a plane that went down between Detroit and Phoenix. I was so sad to find out that you spent your birthday alone the night before, but looked forward to having dinner with you the next Saturday.

I had a lot of notions about you, and worked hard to impress. I tried to make the most of my itty-bitty apartment so that you would not give too much thought to the fact that I was only 19. I know that you only saw the living room for a minute, but were you impressed? Oh yes! And that grey skirt and tunic blouse I wore? I went out and bought that outfit just for our date -- the shoes too. I never did that before. A date with you was a special occasion.

What a lovely evening we had eating black bean cakes on the patio of the Coyote Cafe in the Scottsdale Civic Center. What did we talk about? I can't remember. At some point during dinner, I looked at you and saw -- in my mind's eye -- the word "Husband" plastered across your forehead. It was brief and strange, and I didn't think anything of it until we were engaged or married, but I know now that on some level I knew on our first date, that you would be my husband.

And oh! The lengths you went to "wine and dine" me! Shame on you. If I could have known that we were having all that fun on credit, and that later I would marry you and your debt would be my debt -- well, we might have stopped for burgers at McDonald's more, that's all. But, it was fun and we were young and dumb, so who cares?

We had our first date on August 28, 1987, became engaged on December 5th, and married the next May. Why wait? Do you ever stop and think how blessed we were despite the fact that we forged ahead with our romance without the benefit of Godly counsel, parental blessing or even much fore-thought on our part? We were textbook -- for divorce, that is. But God is good, and we have come to realize that we were made for eachother. Truly. Don't you think?

Over the years, we've certainly grown and changed. Praise the Lord that our directions have been on a parallel trajectory. We used to be all about our careers and travel, clothes shopping and restaurant hopping. Now we're all about living for the Lord, raising the children, enjoying eachother's friendship, finding time for a little romance, and just generally relishing the contended place we've come to.

One of my favorite memories with you is our first birth. You were so calm in the delivery room. Were you calm? Or was that shock? My way of coping during contractions was to grab the breast of your shirt and pull; your mild-mannered answer was, "You're ruining my shirt." (Though you didn't dare tell me to stop!)

I laugh when I think about the day you finally attempted to change your first dirty Fifi diaper. I have it on film -- and it is painful. It took nearly 20 minutes, I think, and started with the noble intention of being very thorough -- which is to say you felt compelled to use every baby product on the changing table. If that wasn't bad enough, most of them hadn't been opened yet and so you were fighting with lotions and ointments that still hid their protective seal under the cap. Fifi screamed bloody murder at you until finally your demeanor changed and you firmly and politely ordered me to, "turn off the video, please." I'm glad you can laugh about it now.

I won't talk about washing the kitchen window. I'll only say that if something is that hard, we're probably doing it wrong.

I love how you delight in the gifts your little girls scavenge for you on a day like this: finger puppets and topless jewelry boxes; big pink Care Bear dolls; "embroidered" handkerchiefs and hand-made, crocheted pen holders.

I love to watch you sharing your passion and knowledge in the kitchen with Fifi, and now Cuddlebug. Hey! Where's Dumpling?

How sweet it is when you take us all to one of your favorite places from your childhood: like Philippe's in Los Angeles. And no, sweetheart -- nobody but you wants one of those purple, pickled eggs.

I'm grateful for the moments you open your mouth and speak humble but monumental words of wisdom to me. Do you even know you're doing that? Do you have any idea the impact of some of your insights and advice on my life?

I am blessed by your determination to live a life worthy of my trust. I am comforted that your reassurance to me stems not from your love for me, but from this statement you made: "I know who I am in Christ."

I'm so proud of you in the moments that you know what's right and stand for it against the crowd, albeit silently. I'm impressed with your discretion that knows the right or wrong time and place for a rebuke. I'm more impressed with your God-given ability to make a rebuke without threatening anyone. I think you are remarkable.

You are my very favorite man on the planet. You have all my trust. You have all my respect. I don't know anyone who I believe is more genuine, sincere, dedicated, gracious and discreet. Being married to you is not hard work, and for that I am truly grateful...and delighted...maybe even a little giddy...or relieved. Maybe all of that. But in the end, just know that I love you dearly. Happy Birthday, Husband.

*whisper* And, you can take the oil painting out of the attic now; surely I've caught up with you and no one can tell who, between the two of us, is 9 years, 8 months older than the other.

Updated to add more links about my favorite man on the planet:

Fun Stuff Happy Birthday