I forgot to tell you this morning when you left for work and the kids were asking for pancakes. When I was feeling grumpy about how everyone got up too early and also grumpy that I stayed up too late.
Thanks for our home, this white kitchen with the shiny handles we picked when we were just kids, dreaming of a home filled with kids. Thanks for your hands building it, your creativity designing it, your hard work paying for it.
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Thanks for these absolutely gorgeous children I feed.
Thanks for the hug when I’ve had a hard day. Thanks for the good advice.
Thanks for saying yes to me all the times you wanted to say no:
To a foster daughter.
To a puppy.
To a farm where I can grow fruit trees and sell eggs.
To marriage therapy when I was feeling scared.
To a vasectomy when I knew my depression couldn’t handle another pregnancy.
Thanks for going to bed early with me even when you don’t want to.
Thanks for loving that vegan soup I made for dinner. (I mean, you feel great now though, right? So nourishing.)
Thanks for saying sorry for going out with your friends without telling me.
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Thanks for forgiving me when I criticize just because I’m grumpy.
Thanks for holding me when I cry from fear and overwhelm and my own epigenetic trauma.
Thanks for saying, “It’s OK, baby. I’m on your team.”
A friend shared something her dad, born in 1914, said about his wife, “Our marriage may not have been perfect, but we were devoted to each other.”
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I forgot to say this to you this morning, and I forget too often in between chasing small children and big dreams, but I need you to know . . .
I’m devoted to you, our marriage, and our family. Always.