OK, Thanksgiving Is Over, But...

I am thankful for the woman who loves me.

She has not had a full night’s sleep since March 1st, 2007. 

Every night some internal mechanism that is tied to the Cesium-133 clock at the U.S. Naval Observatory triggers an alarm at 1100 hours UTC (4 a.m. local).  It sounds like this: “Mommy!”

I’ve tried to go in there and tell our son: “The part of Mommy will be played by Daddy tonight.” But he and I are apparently not in that kind of a relationship.

Despite the serious effects of long-term sleep deprivation, she still performs above and beyond what I would consider superhuman. She’s doing dishes even as we speak. She swears she likes to do them. Earlier, she gave me a hug and the “just you wait ‘til I get you alone” look in spite of her cold. I’m definitely going to shave extra close today. 

I try to beat her to the housework because she does way more than her share. I do try to wrestle the trash bag away from her when I hear it rustling as she ties it up. I try to grab the broom if I hear it shushing along the tile in the kitchen. 

I hope she’s not keeping score. If she is, I’m so behind. I think she’s earned unlimited lifetime R&R to the destination(s) of her choice. I think she’d split the time between Paris, Kyoto and The Cayman Islands. I hope she lets us go with. Of course, then she'd rack up more points by looking after us then, too.

When she said not to get her anything for her birthday, I actually didn’t. Well, OK, I did get a blank card, scratched in some loving sentiments and made a special breakfast for all of us, but that was it. I think she was happy with that. Guys, use caution. I’m pretty sure my wife one of those rare people on Earth who truly means it when she says she doesn’t want anything.

I sometimes wonder if I actually did die at some point and this is what my happy afterlife consists of.

What did I do to deserve this? What ever it was I’m not aware of it. I can’t think of anything I’ve done that would rise to the level that I could look at myself in the mirror and say, “Yes, she’s lucky to have me.”

My biggest challenge is to somehow reciprocate in a way that expresses the depth of my  appreciation.

I think I’ll go vacuum the living room. She says there’s nothing hotter than a man behind a screaming vacuum. Of course, she’s not above the not-so-subtle art of bending the male mind by attaching her will to his self-interest.

I stand happily manipulated and eternally grateful.