This is an honorary post to my well-deserving husband.
Today I had a lousy day. It wasn't entirely a lost cause, but there were some moments that reached the pinnacle of Suck Mountain, mostly having to do with my job and the many ways that I could improve, all of which make me feel like the equivalent of hot gum on a sticky sidewalk: something annoying you just wish you could scrape off.
Scott called in the afternoon and I was feeling morbid, gloomy and glum. I was feeling rotten. And what, on an exhausting 105-degree day did he do? I'll tell you what he did.
He packed up the car seats. He packed up the kids. He procured iced coffee and a sandwich, and shuttled the entire menagerie to me, here, at work. He sat with me on the sofa and was his usual steady, kind, on-my-side self. He told me every wonderful thing I needed to hear and even meant it, which makes him particularly special. He is really one hell of a guy.
At one point I leaned against him, sitting on the teenie break room couch, and I felt renewed by his warmth and his faded Old Spice smell. All he has to do is sit beside me to make me feel whole again. I love him for that.
He's the real article, my husband. He's the cat's meow. And on days like today, he's the one thing I can't do without.