|I love it when the NFL and literature match up.|
But the commercial also made me think about how, even though I grew up and love rural Illinois, I ended up married to the antithesis of a farmer and have moved to increasingly densely populated areas the longer said un-farmer and I are married. How did this happen? Well I guess I kind of answered that in this post that I wrote for Sean's birthday two years ago when he was in Afghanistan. This year we aren't physically together either, so this is yet another post about my husband on his birthday. This is why, even though I'm extremely proud to know many farmers, I am glad I'm not married to one. Because if I were, I wouldn't be married to Sean. And that would be even worse than living in the city.
In the eighth year of marriage, I looked back and knew that I married a man who:
*is tough enough serve his country but soft enough to serve his kids dinner.
*wouldn't be able to accurately identify the differences between a tractor and a combine but rejoiced when his daughter used a proper tripod grip when writing her name. More importantly, he understood what a momentous occasion it was and how much it took for her to do it.
*often can't find the hamper for his dirty clothes but knows the best way to get his children to school and therapies in a ridiculous amount of traffic.
*changes diapers, bakes gluten free doughnuts, mows the yard, takes out the trash, and still finds time for tickles, smiles, and story time.
*has done more than most to help me transition back to working outside our home, as well as how important it was for me to do so.
*enjoys his job, even the extended trips that his particular job brings, but understands that his best work is done with Sweet Girl and Little Man.
*is not my "type" but rather, now, my heart.
*understands that our family is not perfect, but that we belong to one another. And that is perfection enough.
Happy Birthday, Sean. And here's to many more.