I wrote you a letter...

Each year, near the end of the summer, I write a huge entry in my journal with a vivid reflection of my year thus far. I just went back to that entry and read it. Though a lot of the reflection admired my kids and how much fun we had during our summer break, most of it was actually an open letter to my husband. I had no idea at the time, but I seemed to be writing directly to him. Nothing mushy or ridiculous, but my feelings for him were coming off of that page in the purest form of love. I wrote about how we've struggled together, how we've taken care of the family over the years, how we've handled some difficult situations between us and family, and how we're each flawed. The flaws make us human... and quirky! We love and embrace our flaws together. We even make fun of them occassionally! He's a great father... I always knew he would be, but to see it live is just about the sexiest thing and it's not even gift-wrapped!

I've only truly known (personally) two great men in my life; my father and my husband. Sad, but true. While I'm writing my entry for this year tonight, when I look back on it (if I'm drooling about my husband in print), I hope I feel the exact same way I do as I sit here and type this. While I'm trying to live my best life being a wife/mother/daughter/sister/friend, I'm insanely proud that I'm living it with a man of my husband's caliber at my side. I adore him.

pre·cious:
adj

1. Of high cost or worth; valuable.
2. Highly esteemed; cherished.
3. Dear; beloved.

Who has time for that?

When we let Sammy outside in the morning, he runs straight to the side of the house and goes potty. After that, he has no schedule. He has nothing that he has to do. He has nowhere that he needs to be. He's free to do whatever pops into his head at each second as it ticks on by. There isn't a place in the yard where his toys aren't hidden (he puts his toys under things), so he can get them at his leisure. He spends a lot of time underneath the deck (the lattice to go around it so he can't do that anymore is on the HoneyDo list). If someone passes by, he might bark. But sometimes he doesn't. In his world of no appointments or deadlines, he actually has the time to bark like mad at a passerby... I wonder why he opts not to sometimes. Perhaps that would interrupt his nothing to do. Probably that would interrupt his train of thought; "There's a fly, look at this grass, the dirt tastes funny today, there goes a car, oh--that's just my tail, OH THE MAILMAN!!!!". Heaven forbid anyone distract SamMaster J from his daily appointment with NADA. He's living the life that I want to live for a day. For one day, I'd like to have his schedule.

dilly-dally:
(intr.v.)

To waste time, especially in indecision; dawdle or vacillate.