I watched his hands as he worked, sawdust floating around him in the air. Big, strong hands. Hands I know well.
Hands that held mine continuously through three deliveries, even when I squeezed so hard he feared a broken bone.
Hands that gently supported three newborn heads, each in their turn, as he pulled back the blankets to peek at their beautiful, squishy faces.
Hands that have reached out to wipe many a tear from my freckled cheek.
Hands that rub his chin when he's lost in his thoughts.
Hands that carry his suitcase when heads out the door for yet another business trip.
Hands that tap the steering wheel in his car while he drives and sings along with the music.
I love those hands.
And I love the man attached to them even more.
He took a much needed day off a few weeks ago. Work life has been crazy for a while now and I was so relieved when he decided to take a break. It was a real treat spending the day with him.
Just he and I.
It hasn't been just us for quite a long time.
As I sat in the garage watching him work, I studied this man of mine. And I came to the conclusion, for what must be the millionth time, that he's one of the good ones.
They say that a good marriage is the ability to fall in love over and over with the same person.
I'd say it just happened again.