"I love you"

My husband is a funny creature. When it comes to men he has characteristics of an Endangered variety. I'm fully aware not all husbands voluntarily sneak up on you with two glasses of wine and a foot rub on a Tuesday Night, or bathe your rambunctious children every evening, or cook and clean the kitchen before he's even out of his work uniform and the sweat from a rough day at work dries from his forhead.

Don't get me wrong, he has his share of obnoxious moment that make this Mama twitch, but they're usually overshadowed by flashbacks of him flying through the house during the holidays with the red Christmas Tree skirt tied around his neck like a cape, with a giggling 2 year old right behind him. Or his voice at 3am saying "It's okay hon, you look tired, let me get up and feed the baby." without a single hint of sarcasm.

The tears he doesn't hide at the loss of a loved one or the meeting of a new life, his hand on my swelling pregnant belly before I birthed each of his children and telling me I'm beautiful when I feel more like a dairy cow or bridge dwelling troll. Him on his knees at a little table with his daughter for a tea party or round of Play Dough molding, or him dozing off to Max and Ruby with his son on his chest. Refusing to go out for a night with the guys, but happily shoving me out the door to hang with the girls. Coming home from work a a chef at 1 in the morning, waking me up with an exhausted smile on his face and a big pan of lobster for a romantic midnight dinner.

That's a man.

Now here's my dilemma. How do you possibly thank a man like that? It's times like this when I think back and realize that a simple "I love you." can't possibly be enough. Or when I do snap over something small and then feel overwhelmed with guilt over my spoiled actions. My life is devoted to the two little creatures we made together. I buy BPA free everything, my groceries range from organic, to no HFCS, I've been making and freezing my own babyfood, Hell even the cat eats organic. I spend hours a day reading and skimming articles on how to be the best mother possible. Should I vaccinate? Should I homeschool? Should I breastfeed for just 6 months or 18 months? Is this household cleaner healthier than that, or should I make my own? These questions tie up every day of my life to the point where I sometimes forget about an equally important member of the family.

The man of the house.

We both have our stereotypical parental roles. He works hard and makes the money, I keep the house in order and we raise our kids together. But what can I do more of? I don't mean I should run out and get him some extravagant gift Just Because. He knows I appreciate a single rose so much more than two dozen. I want to find a simple way to show him I adore and appreciate him as much as he does me. Things like this should not be so tricky. Sure, we have Holidays for it: Valentines Day, Christmas, Fathers Day; but showing your loved one your affection shouldn't come with an excuse or feel like an obligation. It should just happen. He knows how to do it. Though rough and tough on the outside he most certainly has a sugary romantic center. We've been married almost five years and I still can't seem to let my guard down enough to do the same, and when I realize this I can't help but feel a little ashamed.

So perhaps I should put down the Parenting magazines and delete my favorite Mommy Websites from my Bookmarks for now. I've been so tied up with being the Mommyhood Poster Child I forgot I have a whole other role I haven't filled to my satisfaction, Loving Wife.

I know I'm a good Mom, I see it in the crazy grins of my children, so maybe I should stop stressing on how it for now and turn my sights back onto being the perfect wife.

Well, not the perfect wife. Such a title doesn't exist. Sheesh, I'm no Stepford Robot, and I'm DEFINITELY no Nicole Kidman, that's for sure. (Which is okay because Lurch is no Matthew Broderick either, heh.)

But I surely need to return the favor in the spoilage department. Tonight I'll be the one to deliver the glass of wine and the foot rub, and I won't roll my eyes and sigh when he turns off Comedy Central and flips on Food Network. I won't mumble thanks and roll over when the baby whines and he offers to get up. The little things he does mean so much to me when I look back at them, perhaps they'll mean just as much to him if I do it more.

I hope so.