Why yes, I DO have a life partner!

21 Aug

I was reading some post somewhere today as I tried to block out two children giddy from being housebound due to the rain (apparently in New Brunswick, fall starts REAL early this year). The post talked about how many bloggers don’t really talk about their significant others, and the poster was interested about the why’s of this (if anyone remembers the post-please leave the link in the comments-it was a neat post)

And I got to thinking-I don’t reference¬†Mogo all that much, aside from when I’m mad or he does something stupid (not necessarily mutally exclusive). And it’s not fair to the guy, because I really do love him, and the other day on the bus, I started thinking of why. And I condensed it to one moment.

When I’m being bipolar, or otherwise myself, and I’m foul for no apparent reason at something as benign as say, a wall, he’ll try and crack me up, which he’s pretty good at. He gets this sweet earnest look on his face, and I love it. That look always tells me I’m with the right person, because he cares enough about me, loves me enough to dare the possible explosion that his attempt my engender. He tries and he tries, even though I’m like the little girl with the little curl. When I’m good, I’ve very good, but when I’m bad, I’m horrid. He takes it all with grace most of the time. And I forgive him for the times when he doesn’t, because frankly, I wouldn’t hang around my ass.

We’ve come a long way together. I’ve said many times that we wouldn’t be together still if not for the kids, and the changes they created, and I think it’s true. He was wrapped up in trying to be some music engineer that 20,000 of tuition didn’t make him want badly enough, and still wanted all the toys Deluxe might have. I just wanted someone to love me, be happy with me. I can delude myself and say that I wanted someone to go on a grand adventure with, but it’s not true. All I’ve ever wanted is the quiet happiness my parents shared despite cancer and money and all the other shit life throws in the way.

And I have it. I really do. And it’s lovely, like the field behind my house that fills with lupins in the early summer. I have someone who loves me, who is willing to call me on my shit, and finds me beautiful, even on my fat and bloated days. I have someone who never once mentioned how badly I smelled from lochia after giving birth, despite his overly sensative nose. I have someone who loves my cooking, and tells other people. I have someone who turns me on as much as he can piss me off.

I have someone who loves me despite what I might say on my crazy days.

He has his faults-he can be angry, he can be mean, and he can just plain old not think. But usually, he rises above all that crap. He loves his children and his children love him, and he’s not afraid to be the primary caregiver, despite all the shit people give him for it.

He’s beginning to love his life, and I think I’m falling in love with him all over again.

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