Funny how I just recently wrote this gushing post over at BabyCenter about my perfect husband and suddenly the only thing gushing from me is a poisonous venom spawned from childish disappointment.
Honestly. You can play the grown up all you want; buy the house, reproduce, read the parenting manuals, pay the taxes, and attend friends for education meetings-- but the little kid inside of you never really leaves the building.
I'm at my worst with my children when I let my insecurities about their futures skew my vision of who and what they really are as well as what really matters. And it works the same way with husbands. You want so much for someone, or so you think, but how much of it is really about how who they are reflects back upon you?
I'm resisting the urge to go into any detail here. Let's suffice it to say, I married a man whose talents are seemingly boundless and whose voice rarely rises above a the gentlest whisper. What is wrong with that, you may ask? Well, people can't hear him.
Perhaps I should install a horn somewhere on his person, which he could toot when he was feeling bold. I bet he would just MacGuyver some sort of muffler for it so the sound wouldn't startle or offend anyone. Sigh.