Dear Almost Hubs...

To My Almost Husband,

I sit here tonight clicking away on the keyboard, staring at the gigantic pile of clothes you left on the end of the bed.  Clothes, still on the hanger, removed in one swift movement, from your old house, to our new home.  Your new home.  And, while I would love for them to not be on the end of the bed, or in a pile on the floor, I am comforted to know that they are here, finally. And also relieved that there's not as much as I thought there would be.  I gave up my only closet for you. In return, you bought me a portable one, because that's how you roll.

It's been a long, long journey to get us to where we are.  A point, in truth, I thought we'd never make it to.  I think back to all the nights that you'd come over after the boys had gone to bed.  After a late night of movies, you'd make the 40 minute trek back to your place, only to get up at 5:20 AM and make the trek back into work the next day.  Some days you'd get up early, buy milk, and leave it on my doorstep.  It was your way of making sure I had what I needed, without interfering with my morning with the boys.  After a while, when things started to come together with us as a family, and your Mom got sick, I thought there was no way you could make this work.  Somehow, you did. Looking back, I guess you'd have done anything for us, if only I'd asked.

Looking forward, I know you still will.   

You have sat up endless nights with me, rubbing my back when I've eaten something I shouldn't have.  You've worried more than necessary about every court proceeding, drop off and pick up, and random run in with the ex. You call to see how my day's going when you get wind of a bad day in the office, and although it may not seem like it when I'm cutting you off mid sentence, I do love it that you think to call.  I just want to make it home alive, and talking on my cell phone while delivering mail with traffic whizzing by at 50 mph isn't the best way to do that.  You have taught me patience, and have a way of making me believe that somehow it will all work out.

You indulge every crazy whim I have, every delusion of grandeur, and dream I've ever had, with only minimal mocking. You have tackled endless projects, taken many for the team, and stopped me dead in my tracks when I've headed for disaster.  You've embraced my family, are raising the boys like they were your own, and even clean up after the cat. We have both seen both sides of 40 pounds, yet somehow our bodies still just seem to fit together perfectly.  We've had our share of sickness and health, and experienced as much suburban adventure as the law allows.

We have together, perfected the art of being dangerously unexciting. And no one, I mean no one, can watch grass grow, or paint dry,  like you can. Truly, It's a gift.  You have forced me to slow down, get out of my comfort zone, and lose control.  You revel in my rare days sitting on the couch, watching TV, and eating pudding.  You have taught me not to compromise, and while you'll never tell me I can't buy the chocolate Levian Diamond necklace, you'll cause me to pause long enough to leave it in the store. 

You make me laugh, even when I don't want to. 

You've made me cry, sad and happy tears.

You've made me question things I never thought I would, and believe in things I did not think were possible.

There was nothing missing in my life.  No hole in my soul, no "something else" to feel complete.  My life was happy and filled with great things. Like German chocolate cake, with the most decadent of chocolate frosting, raspberries within the layers of ganache, and shaved chocolate on top. And then you came along, adding the hand dipped strawberries, and dollops of whipped cream. You didn't complete me. You made me better.

Still, here I sit.  Staring at the pile of clothes at the end of the bed, and the random bag that accompanies it that contains your shampoo, shaving cream, and a silver necklace and cross that I've never seen before.  And, while I have no idea how I'll sleep tonight if you don't get around to sorting through them and putting them away, I know that those clothes are just where they need to be.

I love you,

Welcome home.