The Man of the House

Here is a picture of my handsome husband that I randomly snapped when he was getting ready for work one day last spring. I had just figured out how to change the ISO on my camera and was playing with my new found trick.

I don't publicly declare my undying love about this guy too much on this blog, however, sometimes I just cannot help myself. And besides, you all need an update on what he's been up to, as he generally avoids the spotlight.

These days he somehow manages to wake up at the break of dawn to teach seminary. He comes home for a quick breakfast before heading for work. Midday, he takes a lunch break that often includes helping the girls with lunch and maybe even letting me get in a run or a shower. Then in the evening, if he doesn't have class or a work meeting is found doing homework, yard work, helping with dishes or playing with the girls. After the girls are in bed, he has a seminary lesson to prepare and perhaps a few minutes to catch a show or some sports or talk with me before bed. And then it all begins again. He must feel constantly exhausted and over-extended. Yet he never complains.

Weekends are much the same. There are errands to do, church service to give, he watches the girls to me a little time to myself, we have a date night (often a movie he has researched to make sure it is not to scary or offensive for me), and he often ends up spearheading dinner one or both nights to give me a break.

September marked six years since our engagement. It's made me reflect a bit on why I love him so darn much. And the traits that come to mind are mostly ones that attracted me to him in the first place.

One of our first interactions was a time Mike called my apartment to see what I was up to and I ended up making some Relief Society brownies at his apartment (and mine and another guy's...I was making several batches at once and for some reason didn't trust them in the same oven). Mike and I ended up talking for a while. I remember thinking, "I can really talk to this guy."

Somehow in our conversation, we ended up talking about his high school humor columnist days and I teased him wondering why he was majoring in geography if he could have a promising future in entertainment columns. His response, while funny, seemed to have a serious ring: "I didn't think it would look very promising to some girl's dad if I told him I was going to provide for her on a humor column."

Mike has always taken his responsibility to provide seriously. It's a Gotfredson boy thing. I really, truly appreciate the way he provides for the girls and I and always puts our needs and wants before his own. (Both our physical and emotional ones.)

Another trait I love about Mike is how he never draws attention to my faults.

One time, when we were dating, I was running late (surprise, surprise) for an eight a.m. class we were taking together. (Actually, it was one we had signed up for together over winter break during some long getting-to-know-you phone chats, but that's another story.) I was super-embarrassed because I really, really hate being late and I really, really wanted to nip that habit and never let him know I ever run late. So, I walked by his apartment and didn't see him, so I hurried to class and arrived several minutes after eight. But he wasn't there.

Realizing Mike must have indeed been waiting for me, my embarrassment sky-rocketed from ten to a hundred. Now, I had made him late too and I began an inward debate of my next move. Did I have reception? Should I call from the hall? Should I head back to get him? (We lived super close to campus.) Would he be mad? Luckily, he walked in right then.

After class, I shot right into my explanation of how I didn't think he would wait that long and his roommate saw me, so I thought he would have told him, etc.

His response? "Don't worry about it."

That was it. And that is it.

I thought about this yesterday, because when Mike got home, dinner was barely started and the house was rather trashed, despite some flurried efforts the hour or so before his arrival. I had long-standing plans to get in a long run, since I missed it on Saturday (the result of too many plans for a small amount of time, which he was also extremely patient about), and he still encouraged me to go. I helped him get dinner near-done, prayed on the food with everyone, and headed off.

A minute out, I get a call from him. "Umm, the missionaries just called..."

It came back to me in a rush. They had called to confirm a dinner appointment the night before and it had totally flown out of my head. I can be really scatter-brained.

"I'll come right home," I said.

"I think I've got this."

"Are you sure?"

After a quick conversation to decide how to round out our simple taco dinner and make sure there was enough for everyone, I decided to go ahead and still take my run. The weather was perfect, it felt good to get out, and it felt good to know that Mike had things under control. I was proud of him for being able to handle it. And proud of me for letting him. Even if the missionaries do think I'm a flake.

One time I asked him how he is so consistently patient with all my shortcomings (and most people's for that matter). And his reply was something along these lines: "You don't need me to tell you what to work on. You are already doing your best."

Mike doesn't often try to change people. He takes them as they are. Even though I must drive him nuts sometimes, probably a lot of times, he lets it roll off. I am sure I need to take a page from his book.

I could go on all day. I love how Mike is brilliant in a nonchalant, doesn't-take-much-effort sort of way. He's been pushing through his classes like a champ, learning lots and getting fantastic scores to boot. I love how he lets me proofread his papers and refers to "us" getting a masters to make me feel important. I love his understanding of the scriptures and the gospel and how he often watches BYU-TV scripture discussions and documentaries to learn more. I love the e-mails and g-chats and phone calls (and now even texts!) I get occasionally when he is at work or school, letting me know he is thinking of me. I love talking about most any topic together (except perhaps what would happen if one of us died young--very sad topic, don't like--and when we are going to train for a race together--I told you I need to take a page from his not-changing-people book). I love snuggling and watching movies together and walks at sunset. I love falling asleep holding hands and waking up in the same bed day after day (whether or not a little someone snuck in or not--yes, I know snuck is not proper English, but look at  this article I came across, the compulsive editor in me had to be sure).

Yep, we are lucky Mike is the man of our house. I love him. We couldn't ask for better.