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Feb. 10th, 2007 08:19 amReasons that I love the Viking (being a partial and potentially never completed list of the minutia and motivations which remind me that I love my husband very much.)
He is kind.
He is thoughtful.
He always makes coffee and asks me if I would like some, even though I have taken him up on it perhaps a handful of times in our 15 years together.
He is handsome.
He has a wonderful sense of humor.
And by wonderful sense of humor, I mean, he tells elephant jokes that leave me groaning in pain, and the same "Two peanuts were walking down the street, and one of them was assaulted." joke over and over, and I love him for it.
He is wicked smart.
He has the work ethic of 10 men (and considering some of the men I've met in my life, I'm pretty sure I know where he's gotten it from, cuz they certainly weren't using it.)
He is tall.
He is so present in my life and so constant that I sometimes forget how tall he is, even after a decade and a half.
He is loyal. He would never let anyone talk bad about me to him, even if it was true.
He never lets me forget I'm his Alpha Bitch.
He would never use the word Bitch to describe me, even when I do.
He is a very talented artist.
He loves his big television I bought him and will probably want to have it burned with him on his Viking funeral ship when he dies, which will be interesting to arrange, but I love him enough to find a way.
He is a lover /and/ a fighter.
He fixes my boo-boos.
He can troubleshoot a multi-million dollar computer network with his eyes closed, but still folds the towels wrong, after 15 years and me "teaching" him how to do it a hundred times.
When called on the towel issues, he looked at me sadly and said "Some day, I will be gone, and you will be sad that your towels will never be folded like this again." And he was right. I haven't complained since.
He loves chocolate as much as I do. Maybe more.
He encourages me to try new things.
He looks for ways that his interests and mine overlap, sending me stories that he finds that mix technology and gaming, or things he thinks would be helpful to my work.
He loves bad movies.
He supports me in everything I want to do.
He is as much at home in a fancy restaurant, an intense business meeting or alone on the water with his kayak.
He loves the big, huge, gigantic Viking socks I made him, and wears them constantly, years later.
He's a wonderful father to all three of our kids.
He has helped me to be a better mother to them.
He is very very creative.
He is grateful for all of the good things in our lives.
He's kind to animals.
He reads my writing and manages to find a way to be supportive and critical each in its own good time.
He's always encouraged me to be everything I want to be.
He loves my cooking.
He is a faithful son.
He loves candles and incense.
He likes the way I drive.
On long road trips, he'll let me sleep and watch over me to keep me safe.
He tucks me in.
At almost 40 with all my scars and baggage, he still makes me feel like he sees me at 20, fresh and irresistable.
He wears cologne to smell nice for me, even though he doesn't really like it.
He makes things happen.
He tells me I look like Dorothy Parker.
He talks with me, when it's what I need in the situation, even when I know it's horribly painful and difficult for him.
He kisses really good.
He does other stuff really really good, too.
He has never once, in the 15 years of our relationshi, said I told you so.
He can fix anything, make anything, do /anything/ he sets his mind to.
He would come find me in the depths of hell, were I lost there, and if he couldn't bring me back, would stay beside me rather than leave me there alone.
His hair is beaver-pelt brown, and it's only become more handsome as it's gotten shot through with silver.
He worries when we aren't "connecting".
He can fix anything.
He's soft hearted enough to not like meat to still look like animals.
He loves Nag Champa.
He would fight dragons for me.
He would teach me how to fight dragons for myself.
He makes the best spaghetti sauce in the world.
He tries so hard to understand me.
He loves me, even when he doesn't.
He is kind.
He is thoughtful.
He always makes coffee and asks me if I would like some, even though I have taken him up on it perhaps a handful of times in our 15 years together.
He is handsome.
He has a wonderful sense of humor.
And by wonderful sense of humor, I mean, he tells elephant jokes that leave me groaning in pain, and the same "Two peanuts were walking down the street, and one of them was assaulted." joke over and over, and I love him for it.
He is wicked smart.
He has the work ethic of 10 men (and considering some of the men I've met in my life, I'm pretty sure I know where he's gotten it from, cuz they certainly weren't using it.)
He is tall.
He is so present in my life and so constant that I sometimes forget how tall he is, even after a decade and a half.
He is loyal. He would never let anyone talk bad about me to him, even if it was true.
He never lets me forget I'm his Alpha Bitch.
He would never use the word Bitch to describe me, even when I do.
He is a very talented artist.
He loves his big television I bought him and will probably want to have it burned with him on his Viking funeral ship when he dies, which will be interesting to arrange, but I love him enough to find a way.
He is a lover /and/ a fighter.
He fixes my boo-boos.
He can troubleshoot a multi-million dollar computer network with his eyes closed, but still folds the towels wrong, after 15 years and me "teaching" him how to do it a hundred times.
When called on the towel issues, he looked at me sadly and said "Some day, I will be gone, and you will be sad that your towels will never be folded like this again." And he was right. I haven't complained since.
He loves chocolate as much as I do. Maybe more.
He encourages me to try new things.
He looks for ways that his interests and mine overlap, sending me stories that he finds that mix technology and gaming, or things he thinks would be helpful to my work.
He loves bad movies.
He supports me in everything I want to do.
He is as much at home in a fancy restaurant, an intense business meeting or alone on the water with his kayak.
He loves the big, huge, gigantic Viking socks I made him, and wears them constantly, years later.
He's a wonderful father to all three of our kids.
He has helped me to be a better mother to them.
He is very very creative.
He is grateful for all of the good things in our lives.
He's kind to animals.
He reads my writing and manages to find a way to be supportive and critical each in its own good time.
He's always encouraged me to be everything I want to be.
He loves my cooking.
He is a faithful son.
He loves candles and incense.
He likes the way I drive.
On long road trips, he'll let me sleep and watch over me to keep me safe.
He tucks me in.
At almost 40 with all my scars and baggage, he still makes me feel like he sees me at 20, fresh and irresistable.
He wears cologne to smell nice for me, even though he doesn't really like it.
He makes things happen.
He tells me I look like Dorothy Parker.
He talks with me, when it's what I need in the situation, even when I know it's horribly painful and difficult for him.
He kisses really good.
He does other stuff really really good, too.
He has never once, in the 15 years of our relationshi, said I told you so.
He can fix anything, make anything, do /anything/ he sets his mind to.
He would come find me in the depths of hell, were I lost there, and if he couldn't bring me back, would stay beside me rather than leave me there alone.
His hair is beaver-pelt brown, and it's only become more handsome as it's gotten shot through with silver.
He worries when we aren't "connecting".
He can fix anything.
He's soft hearted enough to not like meat to still look like animals.
He loves Nag Champa.
He would fight dragons for me.
He would teach me how to fight dragons for myself.
He makes the best spaghetti sauce in the world.
He tries so hard to understand me.
He loves me, even when he doesn't.
