Here is the thing: I am a bona fide whiner. I just watched a season 5 episode of 30 Rock in which Liz is talking at Pete, and he throws his arms up over his face and says something like, “I feel another complaint coming on!” That is, essentially, what “conversations” between Wolfman and me sound like many an evening after work. Work is most often what I complain about, but also, and more specifically, I complain about people. Because? I am not a people person, I guess. I’m working on that. Really.
But, the exception to that not liking people thing? Immediately—I’m talking as soon as I laid eyes on this poor sucker—the man I call Wolfman, whose mother actually named him less anthropomorphically, Jared, my now husband, is a people I like. If not a people person, I am at least a Wolfman person. So, he is, inevitably, the first thing that pops in my mind when I contemplate the word “thankful.” (I hear it’s the time of year for doing that.) He is, inevitably, the first thing that pops in my mind when I contemplate a lot of subjects—Wolfman and food, my numbers one and two favorite things to think about.
So, when I think about my husband, I am so full of thanks I, literally, am on the brink of tears. (I’m a crier.) I am thankful for that man, with his beard-face-scratchy-kisses and his gorgeous arms, and that handsome devil face. I am so thankful that he appeared in my life, that I wore blue tights with a mini skirt that one day and caught his eye, that we held on in those first tumultuous months of marriage. I am so happy that he is the one that I get to come home to, and on days when he works later than me, that he comes home to me (even though I might spend a good half hour complaining at him [but never, it should be noted, not ever, about him]). If this blog is about one thing, it is about the impetus to move forward, to find a better way to be me, to hold myself accountable, and he is the reason I want to be smarter, stronger, more adept, more skilled and accomplished. I am a grade A slacker, always have been, but I don’t feel quite so much like sandbagging now that he’s around. I want to be great, because he is great. (No, really guys, he is.)
But also, I’m so thankful for him because I am also so thankful for humor. Very often the day-to-day pattern of my life would feel very much like drudgery if not for the fact that at least (at least) four times a day, I belly laugh. At least four times a day, I throw my head back and laugh—LAUGH—I make that sound in my throat that is less a laugh than a bark, and I revel in my own laughter, really. I love my laugh because it is the same too-loud, too-long, too-big laugh that all the women in my family share. And often, my husband is the one making me laugh. That grocery list pictured above? I asked Husband Dearest to write down Gas-X (dairy and I do not get along, though I love it so), and he writes Lady Anti-Fart Pills, “You know,” he says, “for Ladies to suppress farts, because Ladies don’t fart.” Still, days later, I keep thinking about that grocery list and giggling to myself.
Those are the big things, then. I am thankful this year, and every year, for Wolfman and for Laughing That Laugh That is More a Bark than a Laugh.
Some other things I’m thankful for:
1. My very good step-dog, Lunchbox Chaos Vaughn. Best and handsomest dog around.
2. The women in my family mentioned above. I love those gals. They, also, are big on the laugh-o-meter; constant giggling when I have the pleasure of being in the same room with them.
3. Tea, hot or cold, preferably with honey, and if I’m in Wolfman’s café, the red tea latte (which he always, even when he is not working, steps behind the counter to make me himself, another reason to be thankful for him; also, he has a cute butt).
4. This gorgeous autumn. The most gorgeous autumn in recent memory.
5. Songs about witches.
6. Epic fantasy novels and television shows, which make me crave adventure and crusty bread and open fire.
7. A roof over my head, food in my belly, clothes on my back, and a lack of concern for tomorrow. I’m cared for, I’m loved, I’m safe and settled.
1. Wolfman, in chainmail.
