Valentine's Day

I'm not a syrup-y sweet kinda girl. Most jewelry commercials make me want to gag. But yet I'm going to write this post. Stupid hormones.

The following is titled: "Why I love my husband"

Have you ever watched the movie When Harry Met Sally? There is a scene where Harry tells Sally that he loves her because he knows that it will take her 20 minutes to order a salad. That's what I love about my husband. That I know the little things. Good or bad, they're not a mystery any more.

• I know that he will never turn down Chinese food.
• I know that it doesn't matter what kind of sandwich he eats, it always has the same condiments. (Cheese, lettuce, ketchup and mayo. Unless it's a deli sandwich then he'll drop the ketchup)
• I know he will always laugh at physical humor - even if he's seen the same clip a hundred times, Chevy Chase falling off a ladder is hilarious to him.
• I know that if we are ever walking in the mall or some other place and he comes to a dead halt and tilts his head - it's because he just heard a trumpet somewhere playing a very high note.
• I know he finds it perfectly acceptable to add lip trills to Sunday morning hymns.
• I know that every Thursday he will tell Tiger Woods how much of an idiot he is and every Sunday he will be amazed at how great he is.
• I know that when he watches a close game on TV he will always put on the appropriate hat or t-shirt to root on his team. Even if no one else is watching with him.
• I know that it takes him forever to finish eating.
• I know about his special 'talk to me' sign that only people over 65 can see.
• I know that he would rather have a second helping of steak than a dessert.
• I know that a cup of Hazelnut coffee from Panera is his ulitmate treat.

And of course there are more. And they're all very endearing. But mostly I guess I love my husband because of Monday night. At 2:00 in the morning I woke up with the worst leg cramp I've ever had. After Easton and Camille I've learned that pregnancy and Charlie Horses are best friends. I get at least 4 or 5 a week. But this one was different. It didn't simply go away after a little flexing and rubbing. In the middle of the night when we are both exhausted I love that he sat and rubbed my calf endlessly while I cried like a baby. At one point I think he compared me to a football player and himself a trainer which made me giggle.

Today when I got home there were fresh flowers in a vase on my kitchen table. Not roses, not chocolates, not diamonds. Fresh flowers. He knew that.

It's the little things. Definitely.