It’s Because I Love You, That I Don’t Stab You In Your Beautiful Eyes. Happy Valentine’s Day Dear.

My husband has this look in his eye. I see it from time to time and it cracks me up. I know at that moment, I’ve pulled off one of my dive-under-his-skin tactics perfectly and he would really enjoy punching me right in the temple. It makes me laugh because I definitely have my own kind of I’m-seriously-considering-throwing-this-knife-right-at-your-forehead look. It’s practically painted on my face by the time he has finally tapped danced all over my last damn nerve.

Love.

Fortunately, I also get to see many other looks in my husband’s eyes.  His eyes, as tired as they are, always seem to shine when he walks in the door from work and the kids overwhelm him with love and noise.  He has a way of pulling the shades of his eyes down just so and curving his slightly, boyish smile just enough to the right, that it makes me get all mushy in my heart.  I get to look in the eyes of a man that holds my heart wholly. It’s for that reason, I can look past the new species he has created in the bathroom sink with all the clippings from last night’s shaving ventures. It’s my deep, passionate love that keeps him alive after he calls me to ask me if I can call some one and find something out for him.  OMFG…Just call yourself!!! 

I know that look Clare…just breath girl.

I love him so very much that I allow him to live on a Saturday morning when he has decided that he has to start cleaning the house at 8am and then becomes aggravated when the little guy finds joy in strewing his perfectly swept pile of dirt, food, wood chips and dog hair the entire length that it once was.

Little Man thrives on destruction, no matter how big or small.  Doing chores while he is awake or not otherwise occupied is asking for a really bad start to your day.  Therefore, before I have finished my second cup of coffee, I am using proven breathing techniques to avoid homicide and figuring out a game plan for keeping us all sane over the weekend. I realize that as I write this, I am lucky I haven’t had my break lines cut over the past five years we’ve been married (total of 14 years that we have been a couple).  It’s funny how I didn’t really start to plot his death, until we were married.  At what point, did the love of my life, become enraged over a few strands of hair, attacking his toes while he showers?  It is going to make his head explode one day, I just know it.  Watching him gag like a teenage girl and kick pointed toes in the air, in hopes that the hair will fling off and stick to the wall, so he doesn’t actually have to touch it, is deliciously evil to watch.

Perhaps though, what makes him want to take me out at the knee caps the most, is my constant inability to make up my own damn mind.  I know he would rather reach in my ear and violently toss a decision through a nostril than hear me say, “I don’t know hun, what ever you want”, one more time.  I’m perfectly aware that if I hear him walking around the house singing “I used to love her” by Guns N Roses, I should probably lay low for a while.

I love the mushy stuff.

I am a sucker for Valentine’s Day.  I love to celebrate love.  The critics call it a consumer holiday and yes, I get that.  K Jewelers knows you just got your tax refunds back and they will subliminally fuck you in to buying bling if you let them.  I try to ignore that though.  I try to use the holiday to reflect on what I love and hate and love to hate about the man I choose to have in my life.

In the spirit of Valentine’s Day, I asked some friends a few lovey, dovey questions about their significant others.  The love/hate that was described was funny and heart warming.

Ain’t love grand!

Apparently, there is a guy out there that makes his beautiful wife homemade cards and encourages her to go on vacations to the beach with her girlfriends every year.  They have three boys.  The women that are going to marry these boys are some lucky bitches, that’s all I’m sayin’.  Although very grateful for the wonderful man in her life, Kristin still had this to say:

“When he plays his game online he bitches the whole time like “man I shot him & he didn’t die but he killed me through a wall” it doesn’t sound aggravating but IT IS!”. 

Yep…I see a pillow over his face after about 10 minutes of that man-childness.

The classic road trip with your spouse.

The next guy is lucky he can keep his wife laughing with his British accented conversations with the French Bulldog. I suspect she would like to drive her car in to a wall at even the thought of him being in a car with her.  Just picture this scene Kate so hilariously describes.

“I literally can’t be in a vehicle with him. It doesn’t matter if he’s driving or I’m driving, he’s completely intolerable. If I’m driving then I’ll hear “why are you taking this way? That doesn’t make any sense!” Or “god dammit pass them already” or “oh my god, just pull over and let me drive” or “we would’ve been there already if you didn’t drive like a fuckin old lady” and “what the hell are we listening to?”

“Think that sounds fun? It’s even better when he’s behind the wheel. I am admittedly TERRIBLE at directions or remembering my way around so I rely heaving on my cars’ navigation system. BUT when he drives we aren’t allowed to take my car since “it’s too fuckin’ small”. So that means when we’re going somewhere I’m forced to try to provide directions from google maps on my phone. Whose fault is it if he misses a turn?? MINE. Whose fault is it if we hit traffic?? Absolutely MINE. And obviously if we get lost completely It usually ends in a yelling match, me calling him a dick, and asking if I could please get out and walk home rather than suffer another minute in a confined space with him. So yea…a cross country road trip with my husband is NOT on my bucket list.”

Tonight…he will die.

I had one friend describe her husband as “… the suns rays peeking through my gray cloud”.  However, the “drives me crazy” part of her story described a not-so-sweet-anymore wife. This side of her could probably choke him out the next time he takes off and leaves his pants in random places all over the house.  I concur.  A dirty piece of laundry, a foot away from a clothes basket where it should be, creates enough fury to start sending out e-vites to his funeral.

Yes. You should be afraid.

Lastly, let me tell you about a friend who described a man that could be so many good better halves/husbands/dads I know these days.  She told about his ability to:

“… help so much every day.  A lot of men have neverrr changed a diaper or bathed the baby or that kind of stuff but he really makes sure I get breaks when I need them and tries to make sure that I’m always happy.  But that might be because he’s scared to piss me off.”

I’m so doing this if my husband survives that long.

Love is worth celebrating. I hope that this Valentine’s Day you can put down the knife, avoid imminent head trauma brought on by purposely ignored pet peeves and fall in love again with the one that makes your heart explode, your eye balls twitch and laughs at you with you every day.