Ode To My Giant
He drives me insane. Sometimes, he says something, and I think you can literally see the, “WTF?!?!?!” symbols, floating above my head like I’m some kind of cartoon character. I stare at him with this look of utter disbelief and irritation at the words that just came out of his mouth.
He constantly takes his socks off wrong side out and wads them into a ball. It is apparently impossible for him to take off the socks like I do (right side out and not wadded into a ball). He also likes to leave them everywhere except the hamper. He takes them off at his desk, in the recliner, at the dining room table. Then, he just leaves them wherever he happens to be at. You know; anywhere and everywhere, with the exception of the hamper. The hamper that is made to contain dirty clothes. The big bucket shaped item located in our bathroom. Maybe he just doesn’t know where the hamper is located? I am making a mental note to show him.
He has eczema. Okay, wait. Don’t judge me on this one. I know this is not something he can help. I totally get that. The issue isn’t the actual having of eczema. The issue is the scratching. Seriously??? He uses objects to scratch the itch. Keys, pens, forks, paperclips; ANYTHING. He scratches so much, and so loudly, it wakes me up at night. Here’s the kicker. I buy him special eczema lotion. Special $12-a-bottle-lotion. However, he doesn’t use it. Da fuh?!?!? Use the lotion and the itching will get better!
He has no sense of urgency and is almost always late. When we’re in a hurry to get somewhere, and he is in the shower, I can see him through the glass. He leans on the shower wall like some sort of Dean Martin-type male model, stroking his chest hair with one hand and rubbing the back of his neck with the other. Eyes closed, like he doesn’t have a care in the world, like we don’t need to leave the house in ten minutes. Sometimes on a Sunday morning, the tiny human is strapped into his car seat, I am sitting in my seat, buckled up, ready to go. Everyone is in the car, ready for church and waiting, except the Giant. He comes strolling out to the garage, slower than molasses in January, wondering why I have this, “are you freaking serious??” look on my face.
That same guy always makes sure the house alarm is set before we go to bed. He leaves a glass of water on my nightstand every night before bed. And sometimes, he leaves a tiny vase with a flower next to it. When he first gets home, he sneaks into the bedroom to make the bed, knowing how much I love sleeping in a freshly made bed. He washes the dishes after dinner. He drives a tiny little two-door car that he has to zip himself into so I can drive our nice car. He carries in the groceries. He makes me feel safe. He puts gas in my car. Sometimes, he surprises me with store-bought coffee in the morning. He prays for me and with me. He tells me I’m a good mom. He leaves me tiny scraps of paper with goofy, handwritten love notes.
My happiness is more important to him, than his own happiness. Me being content and joyful, genuinely makes him happy. He thinks of me before he thinks of himself. He leads our family like it is the most natural, everyday thing in the world. I mean, I know why it comes so naturally to him; because he was born to do it. God made him to take care of us, but still. He is just so good at it. I’m still in disbelief sometimes.
When I was on maternity leave, there were days he would come home from work and find me still/already in bed, greasy hair, puffy eyes, still/already wearing my pajamas, swimming in a tiny pool of my own tears. There would be no dinner made, trash needing to be taken out, Grey’s Anatomy on the television, assorted tiny baby schings strewn about the house. Everything in our house seemed to be covered in breast milk and baby spit up. He would come home to a wife that looked to be on the verge of a mental breakdown. But, he saw the reality. He saw a new mom, trying so hard to be the best she could be. He never got annoyed or irritated. He always knew exactly what to say and he knew exactly what to do. Most times, he would make me take a nice warm bath with Jack. Jack and I would lie in the tub, nursing and listening to music while Marcus cleaned the house and made me tea.
He is the most protective and nurturing Father we could ever ask for. His love for our tiny human is ferocious. He is concerned, caring, gentle, compassionate, and calm (this one can be particularly difficult with a toddler). He is involved, present, worried, hopeful, and in a constant state of wonder. When I look at Marcus, as he looks at Jack, I can finally see what I must look like to everyone else: awestruck. Marcus matches my level of bewilderment and amazement at this tiny human we created; and this makes me love him even more.
He supports every crazy idea I come up with…
Me: I know we live in a one bedroom apartment with a no pet policy but I want to adopt this stray kitty!
Marcus: Alright. But I get to name him.
Me: Let’s buy a house!
Marcus: Sounds good, babe. Did you want me to find the realtor?
Me: I want to make my own baby food!
Marcus: Okay, baby. That sounds awesome.
Me: No more cow’s milk. I want to switch our family to organic almond milk!
Marcus: I like almonds. I guess I could get used to that, babe.
Me: I want to make my own almond milk!
Marcus: Uhhhh is that possible? Let’s watch a you-tube video and learn how.
Me: I want to use all natural deodorants!
Marcus: Okay, babe, just try to find something strong enough for me to use too.
Me: I want to use cloth diapers!
Marcus: Okay! (This was the most hesitant and strained okay of all of the okays I have heard in the course of our four year marriage).
Me: I want to make my own face wash and moisturizer!
Marcus: Okay, baby! That sounds interesting!
Me: We need to get rid of all the plastic in our kitchen! It is poisoning us!
Marcus: Ummm okay, baby. We can do that.
Me: Let’s get chickens!
Marcus: Did you want me to build the coop? Or did you want to buy one?
Me: I want to grow a garden!
Marcus: Sounds awesome! How can I help?
Me: I want to start a blog!
Marcus: That sounds great! How can I help?
The man is a Saint. He is never a dream crusher. He may see the flaws or ridiculousness in the plan or idea I think is foolproof, but he never points them out. He guides me and supports me. He makes suggestions and revisions. He just makes everything I do better. Whatever I create, has somehow filtered through him and he makes it better because there is a part of him in it.