Tag Archives: musings

I love a man in a kitchen

I’ve talked before about how much my husband does in the kitchen–as my sous-chef/support staff, as a baker of the same chocolate chip recipe on a regular basis, as a dish-washer, encourager, and as . . .

. . . well, a derriere to spank. When I get the urge. Which is frequently.

And it’s not just any derriere, either. It’s a mighty fine piece of God’s workmanship.

There’s just something about the husband + kitchen combination that encourages my hand to . . . well, you get the gist.

Don’t be shocked–it’s nothing you haven’t heard before on this blog.

Anyway, today is my lovebug’s 29th birthday. Birthday surprises are hiding in my pants drawer, to be revealed tonight. A dinner date will be happening soon. And as for the cake at hand . . . well, he still claims that I owe him 2 lemon cakes. He cannot be argued down from this iron-clad stance. He has dug his heels in and will not budge until 2 lemon cakes have been produced (by me) and consumed (by him).

We’ll just have to see what happens.

I guess if this is the biggest controversy in our marriage–how many lemon cakes I owe him at a given point in time–you could say that I really have nothing to complain about. That I have, in fact, a lot to be thankful for in this man who goes out of his way to love me and serve me, makes me coffee every morning, faithfully deals with any household issue I deem “gross” (trash; bugs; kitchen floor; sink drain; bathtub drain, etc. etc.), gives me back skritchlies every single evening, reads me Harry Potter until I fall asleep at night, listens patiently and pours me a glass of wine when I’m stressed, sends me little emails during the day to tell me he’s thinking about me or praying for me–and the list could go on and on. He’s smart, disciplined, faithful (to me, to God, to his friends, commitments, health–it’s a huge part of who he is), a hard worker, a generous giver, funny (make that hilarious), sensitive, well-read, passionate, always striving to better himself–the whole package. Designed by God before the beginning of time–and I say: Good job God! Thanks for letting me have him for our time here on earth.

And oh yeah–he has a great, smackable butt.

But I think we already covered that.

Happy birthday, baby! Welcome to the last year of your 20’s (where I’ll be joining you in a couple months)–it’s been a great decade of togetherness and love and the adventure of finding out who we are, and I’m sure this last year will be no different. I love you!

How I know I’m getting older

1. One of my husband’s high school classmates became mayor of his hometown last year.

2. The gaggle of white hairs expanding throughout and streaking the sides of my head.

3. I just recentely figured out who Justin Bieber is.

4. Justin Bieber looks like he’s 13.

5. Why are all the girls wild about Justin Bieber? I seriously don’t get it.

6. When informed that youths of today send about 100 texts per day, I scratch my head and turn around three times in confusion. It’s an odd day that I even send a text, for gosh’s sake. I think the generational gap is getting gappier and gappier all the time.

7. New technological gadgets don’t excite me.

8. New technological gadgets stress me out.

9. Please don’t make me change cell phone models. I’d be lost.

10. I love my bedtime. I have no desire to party all night. Or even stay out past, say, 10pm.

11. Make that 9pm.

12. My metabolism doesn’t seem to be able to assimilate anything I eat with no complaint anymore. I used to inhale pounds upon pounds of pasta, constantly. Now, a generous serving of pasta is likely to make me feel there’s a rock in my stomach for at least 24 hours. Methinks my stomach doth protest too much, savvy?

13. There’s this dress, see. A very light pink with a feathery grey print. Silky, cut on the bias. I planned on wearing this to dinner when I was with my extended family the other weekend. Thankfully I tried it on before packing it, because dangit if it wouldn’t zip up. I sucked in my stomach. I expelled all the air in my lungs and crunched my ribs inwards. I solicited my husband’s help and told him to use whatever force was necessary. After a few minutes of huffing and puffing, I finally accepted the fact that I just don’t have the same body that I had when I was 18, when I first wore this dress. Or when I was 24 and last wore this dress.

The signs are unmistakeable. But if I’m honest . . . I’m loving it. I wouldn’t turn the clock back even if I could. I’m remembering all the insecurities of 18 . . . the meltdowns at 20 . . . the roller coaster of 21 . . . the huge (and painful) learning curve when I entered the workforce . . . and I’ve gained so much since then. There’s a confidence that comes with age; an emotional stability. Then there’s financial stability we’ve been blessed with–yep.

I’ll take the white hairs.