Monday, August 13, 2007

Jason

(Warning: this blog not for the easily nauseated. May induce "gag me with a spoon" reflex.)

I am a lucky, lucky girl.

I have the most wonderful, beautiful, funny, smart man. I worship him.

Jason is a smart ass. If there is a sarcastic comment to be made, he will make it. It is funny, even if it is directed at me. (Though I have to pretend to be totally pissed off. You know, to save face.)

He has hazel eyes. They are sunken, bedroom eyes. In the morning, they are wide and terribly innocent. By night, they are hooded and intimate. They are framed by straight eyebrows that go up in the middle when he puts on his sad-puppy face. I always have to give in at that point.

He is tall, 7 inches taller than me, but you cannot tell because he slouches. His shoulders hunch forward to accommodate for a curved spine; though this should make him look like Quasimodo, he looks instead like James Dean.

He is ropey. Skinny, but with sinewy muscles right under his skin. His body is covered with scars from the lifetime he lived before me. I barely notice them anymore, but when I do - I love them. They tell the story of Jason.

He is sensitive. He cried at The Notebook, at the Bridge to Terebithia, and when Violet was born. He snuggles better than anyone and always holds my hand in public.

He is smart. He is smarter than I am. He gets all my geeky jokes. That may be on the reasons I love him most.

I love everything about him, though. I love the way he eats cereal when he is sick. I love the way he gave me a nickname no one else had ever come up with. I love how he does dishes and cooks and changes diapers without ever insinuating that it is woman's work. I love how he watches HGTV incessantly. I love how he loves animals more than he loves the average human. I love how spoils me and lets me have a clothing allowance even though there is no Jason allowance in the budget.

I love how he loves me. I love how he brings the fan to me every night because I always forget. I love how he goes to the store to pickup flour for me, even though he doesn't want to. I love how he is helping me plan a wedding he doesn't think is necessary because in his head we are already partners for life, but he is still printing invitations and sticking labels and looking at 42,000 dresses.

I love how he is totally committed to me and how there is no part of him that wants any other woman.

I love him because without him, I am just Rebecca. With him, I am Reka the girlfriend, mother, friend, confidante, lover, partner in crime, and so many other things I am still discovering.

5 comments:

My name is Rima. said...

Very sweet. You got yourself a keeper!

Jennie said...

This was beautiful. My husband isn't sensitive at all (okay, a little, ha), but he too holds my hand in public. What a wonderful post that you'll have, always.

Rebecca is fabulous said...

Thank you for your lovely comments! This is my version, I think, of shouting from the rooftops how much I love him.

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