I'm the lucky one

I had the ugly coughs this week.  I've had them all my life.  I remember coughing to the point of gagging in high school classes and stepping out to the hallway until I could get the menthol of the Halls to calm my throat.  Well, this week the the coughs were back and my best friends Delsym and NyQuil went to bed with me.  On Monday, Paul asked me to clear the bed of dirty tissues so he could have a space (gross, I know).  But today, as I emerge out of the other side of a bad fall cold, I can reflect on this week and know that I'm the lucky one.

You see, I left the bed Tuesday night to sit upright in our armchair to help with the postnasal drip.  I coughed all night long.  At 6:30 AM I heard my daughter go the bathroom and I snuck back into bed to hide from her questions. I quickly passed out, welcoming sleep after a vertical night of gagging.  But Paul woke up, got both kids ready, called into work to say he would be coming in late.  I woke up at noon and I never knew what happened.  He called to ask if I would be okay picking them up or if he should come home early.  For five days he dressed them and packed lunch and dealt with fights over too small socks and too thin coats and worked full time and played Go Fish and went to gymnastics and made me gourmet grilled cheese and simmered my favorite soup.  Through all of it, not one single time did he ever complain about having to do it all or whine about how all of the responsibility to provide and care for all of us was falling to him.

And the fact is, he never does.

He has my coffee ready every morning and makes the kids breakfast.  He gets up early to take our son running, even though it slows him down.  He goes to work every single day, never lamenting that he can't leisurely stroll through Target or spend mindless hours on the internet researching living room color schemes.  He comes home, greeted by the witching hour that I thought ended with infancy (I was SO wrong), eats with us, does the dishes, takes out the trash, helps put the kids to bed and then late, late in the evening he waits to see if I need to talk about anything before he retreats into his own relaxation.

He never asks why I need another pair of shoes or another pair of jeans.  He never questions my ridiculous grocery purchases reflecting whatever eating fad I'm on that week.  He never complains about a single thing I make for dinner.  It might sound like a fairytale, but last night he looked at me earnestly asking if he could take me shopping for a nice piece of jewelry because he wants to spoil me.

This is my life.  I can't even type because my cup overflows and my tears of gratitude are flowing freely.

Please don't misunderstand me.  We have our disagreements and we have had rocky patches.  I have been disappointed by countless birthdays and anniversaries that didn't meet my exceedingly high and unrealistic expectations.  As I put away the groceries my heart is grateful to have the coughs behind me, but I am so keenly aware of and grateful for the every day moments, for the sweet and tender care that my husband shows me, for the moments when I can let down my guard and be less than perfect, for the moments when I fail, for the moments when I don't deserve all that I am blessed with, for the moments when I actually appreciate the man that God has blessed me with.

I've always said he got the short end of the stick being married to me, because he is a much better husband that I am a wife.  I know I am the lucky one.

I know it's the month of November and the thankful statuses abound, but if you are one of the lucky ones, tell your partner.  Tell them over and over how grateful you are to be in a relationship of grace and struggle and joy and pain and to know that no matter what happens that you want to be there in the morning to rise together to greet a new day.