Peanut Butter

Sometimes I'm struck by the idea of how much I love this man. This overwhelming-peanut-butter-stuck-to-the-roof-of-my-mouth kind of love, and I think, "This can't be it". I can't have been with this man since I was twenty years old, and still feel like this.

When I happen upon him in some cheesy movie-like moment, like when he's dancing in the kitchen with the baby to "Benny and the Jets", me knowing full well that he hates Elton John. Even when discovered, he always grabs one of my hands and the three of us dance together in one of those moments that make my heart burst. Only to have the other two kids hear the fun we're having come running in until there we are; all five of us singing out "B-B-B-Benny and the Jitsssssssss" and having the time of our lives.

I didn't have much time to love him as himself before I had the opportunity to love him as the father of my children, but it's like getting to love someone new all over again. He's the cheese to my macaroni, and I'm so glad that I hopped into his truck eight years ago.