Let's Talk About the Dough

I have wanted to talk about my beloved husband since I started this here blog. It’s been a lot easier to talk about the insanity that is parenthood. The truth is: I’m not really sure where to begin. Are there words to describe a person who deals with all this crazy every day and, is not crazy himself?

We have nearly nine years of history; our first date was May 8, 2001. We didn’t like each other initially but many, many things changed. In the beginning, it didn’t seem like we would be together forever. I was only 22 and he was only 21 (I’m such a cougar). I had just broken up with someone and he had never really had a serious girlfriend. I liked him. He made me laugh and he was (and still is) boyishly cute. I didn’t really expect anything to happen between the two of us. But, he ended up asking me out several times, and soon we were dating.

A few months into our relationship, Bread declared that we might as well break up because he never wanted to get married and he definitely never wanted kids. This was rather confusing for me because we were having fun and I had never mentioned anything about marriage. Boys! Why do they have to complicate the uncomplicated? Since I am the insightful lady that I am, saw that he was only nervous because of how much he actually did like me. Don’t get me wrong, I was young and not exactly looking for marriage at the moment either; but, I thought we were having fun and did not need to worry about that at the moment.

Obviously, we worked it out. Bread got over his insecurities and eventually he was the one who wanted to get married. I’m all about women’s rights and such but I’m traditional; I wanted him to ask. He did! He asked! I said yes! No shit.

We were married for nearly three years when we had Bird. I am so glad we waited; I feel like we didn’t rush anything. Just like we aren’t rushing for baby number two (now you know). We have our happy little family; Bread, Jessie, Bird and our dogs: Cole and Olive.

What about Bread, you ask? Well, Bread is a man; I mean, he likes meat and potatoes (but, will honestly eat anything). He likes his meat rare (shudders). He works hard every day, physically and actually; he could never sit behind a desk. He comes home dirty. He loves cars (although, less over the years because he has a lazy spot and he doesn’t actually want to work on a car but would never just buy one-it’s complicated). He is funny. He will watch anything on TV. I mean, anything, he just zones out. He always cries during war movies. His wardrobe consists of polo shirts and khaki shorts in the summer and flannels, thermals and jeans in the winter (guys are lucky because they can wear the same stuff year after year and it never goes out of style. And, also, because they have wicked-fast metabolisms. Bastards). He is the best dad and husband. He takes care of Bird when I’m not around; he is not that guy who needs bribery or convincing to actually spend time with his own offspring. He knows how to take care of her. He loves his wifey (especially her excellent domestic skills) and her cookies (no, that is not code for boobs, pervert). In a nutshell, he is a man’s man. He is a loyal, dedicated family man. He also has boyish good looks. Have I mentioned the boyish good looks? He’s cute, BTW…

I also believe he is a saint. He puts up with my antics, schemes and, well, my all-around crazy. I think he loves all my personalities. I hope so. I plan to continue “busting his balls” for the next sixty years or so.