Tuesday

One of those times.

I could really just sit here and cry.

Like, bawl my eyes out.

We got our family pictures back, from Marquette. ... Getting them back makes it seem like they were just developed.  I think I"m using some 1993 language here. Anyway! -  Oh how we love Marquette.  She does such a good job of capturing US.  Like, US-us.  The real Crowders.

Picking my favorite pictures out of the dozens and dozens was a task that took a good amount of time.  But I did it and I now have a folder on my computer with, oh, just SEVENTY favorites. 

Ted went through the pictures today after he woke up.  He went through all 71 pictures and said this was his favorite:


Seriously?  I couldn't even imagine how that is possible.  But, I'm not too stymied because one of my absolute favorites is this one:


And, seriously.  How is a man so much more handsome 9 years after you met him, than he was the day he introduced himself in your neighbor's apartment?  It seems counter-intuitive.  Aren't you supposed to get older and wrinklier and weired as time goes on?  Maybe my husband is peeking particularly late.

But enough about that.  The tears!

Family pictures are like a shot to the gut.  They make me want to cry.  I see these beautiful people in my family - the little ones are bigger and the handsome one is handsomer.  And I'm filled with gratitude not because they're  big and handsome but because they're good and wonderful.  Because I can see in their bight smiles and shining eyes their love and their beautiful personalities and purity.  I see their sassiness, faith, and excitement.  I love these people in my family.  All of them.

But none as much as this one.


He just makes me want to cry.  In the best way.  He is the best person I've ever met.  I'm not saying he is perfect because he would be the first person to tell you he is not.  But I don't think the man has an unkind bone in his body.  I can't imagine him ever wanting to hurt someone or make someone feel badly.  He is caring, patient, and has a heart unlike any I've ever come across.  I just love him. A lot. 

And though I know he doesn't read my sporadic blog anymore (did I mention he's also intensely busy?), I don't write this for him.  Or for you, for that matter.  But as a reminder to me and my someday self that, once, I thought I loved him.  Because I say it all the time.  I thought I loved him when we were dating (sort of, and that's an amazing story).  When I married him.  That first year and a half through snow cream and intimate vacations.  When Gwenna was born.  When Meredith was born.  When he changed his career path in a moment of Heavenly inspiration.  When we trudged through those two long years of nursing school.  But not when I had my gallbladder out (also a great story). When he graduated and I beamed proudly.  When we found out, after a year and a half of trying, we were expecting a third baby.  When he supported my every need in the intensity of delivering said baby.  When I saw him hold his son.  When I woke up yesterday.  When I texted him all through last night as I was sick. ... Some day I will look back on this and laugh at myself imaging that I had no idea what love was 7 years into our marriage.  This is just one of those times I need to remember and look forward to remembering in 10 years.

But I do love him despite how my definition of love has changed over these years.  That handsome, kindly man of mine.

1 comment:

Jewel said...

You two are amazing. It's nice to read love stories like yours!!