Thirteen Years, Fifty-One Weeks

I love that my husband gives treats to the dog in the yard behind ours. 

I love that he names all the animals in the neighborhood.  (The dog in yard behind us?  Nameless.  No really, that’s what he calls him.  Nameless.)

I love that he picks the animal hairs off my clothes.  Well, not really, but I appreciate that he doesn’t want me to look like an idiot.

I love that he walks Rockett twice a day, no matter the weather.

I love that he is always finding new and interesting music for us to listen to; even if one of the newest is jailbait and the other is Reggae Michael Jackson.

I love that he likes staying at home as much as I do.  Probably more actually.

I love that he vacuums the entire house.  And the cat.

I love that he likes driving a mini van.  And a mini cooper.

I love that he’s saved every card I’ve ever given him.  And believe me, that’s A LOT of cards.

I love that he reminds me that HATE is a very strong word.

I love that he takes photos of the animals at the shelter each week, and then spends time editing and posting them, always sharing them with me and my friends.

I love that he paints/thinks/lives outside the box.

I love that I’m always finding new surprises in our backyard.

And, I’m so glad that fourteen years ago, he decided to stay.