I could (and will!) detail all the wonderful things about my husband: he does dishes and laundry, he cleans the litter box (and he hates cats!).
He loves being a father and he’s good at it.
He’s a great son and son-in-law. When my father was in the final stages of pancreatic cancer, my husband took such good care of him, better than maybe a lot of biological children would take care of their own father. He gave my father the same love and respect he gave his own father and he was with them both, caring for them in their final days and I can honestly say he did not give his own father any better treatment or care than he gave mine.
He is my best friend and I am his and he never hesitates to say so to his friends and co-workers, even when they rib him about being “on a short leash”. He always tells them he doesn’t HAVE to be on a leash, he loves being with me and he loves to brag that in almost 21 years of marriage, we’ve NEVER spent a night apart.
He is a devout Catholic, hard-working, generous, gracious, full of good humor, optimistic and trustworthy.
But what I love most is that wonderful gorgeous smile he gets when he walks in the door and sees me. He calls out, “Where is that beautiful wife of mine?” as he comes up the stairs and I can’t help but blush and feel giddy. And he smiles the same as if I were gussied up for a night on the town or if I’ve had one of “those” days and look it! If he came home with a dozen roses every night, it wouldn’t mean half as much to me as the look on his face when he sees me.
He’s made me be the best wife, the best mother, the best friend, the best woman I can be.