I asked my husband Doo what I should write about this week. He replied simply, “My greatness.” Hmmm. A whole article about the awesomeness of Doo, even though he drives me crazy? Well, it is Thanksgiving.
Look, after 21 years of marriage, it’s fair to say I don’t always appreciate my husband. As frequent readers of this column know, I am easily irritated by the way his body processes garlic and red wine, his inability to refrain from throwing his stuff on the kitchen table and his commitment to boys weekends during hunting season. But he’s smart, he’s a good person and I find his bald but bearded look incredibly sexy.
At the moment, Doo is in the kitchen making eggs, completely oblivious to his plate of orange peels from last night which are shrouded in a cloud of fruit flies. But no doubt he’ll offer me some and then make a hilarious remark about how these eggs are much easier than I am.
That’s really what I love about Doo. He puts up with my passive-aggressive nagging and finds ways to make me laugh at myself. He is the funniest man I know, except for his friend MH and one of my brothers-in-law, SJ, and he truly is an amazing dad.
Yes, we occasionally disagree on the parenting front, but I recognize our kids are lucky to have a father who cares so much about their upbringing that he’ll take on this fiery ginger mama bear when he thinks I’m wrong. Of course, I never am, but I appreciate his courageous dedication to our children’s welfare.
So thank you, Doo, for your greatness!
Peace out.
