All of me
why not take all of me
Can’t you see
I’m a mess without you
You took the part
that used to be my heart
So why not take all of me?
Ah Mr. Husband, a walking enigma. This is technically a marriage adventure blog, But I seem to talk about everything but marriage. Over morning coffee it occurred to me that he is so much a part of my life now that I rarely think about it. What a blessing that is to be so sure of something that you don’t give it much thought. But that’s taking him for granted.
Part of me wants to him to take me for granted though. What I mean by that, is that my love is a constant, deep down below the day to day silliness of life. When we first got together, every time we had a dust up he went straight to “well are you leaving?” That would make me rip my hair out and go into frustration overdrive.
Finally I snapped and said “Oh no you don’t! you’re not getting rid of me that easy, Bubba. We are gonna work this out or die trying. “ And we almost did. No violence, just dark boiling thunderclouds of moping, pouting, anger, yelling, and then silence. The dead silence that comes right before a Tornado is about to blow the roof off your house. He refers it as going straight to DEFCON 1.
That lovely old song “Ain’t No Sunshine When She’s gone” seems so true when you are not speaking with your best friend. The Hub-man and I grew up in different houses, of course. His family is the oh so proper, we are better than that, type. We won’t yell, or be overtly uncouth. But we will rip you to shreds with sarcasm and veiled or out right obvious barbs if the occasion calls for it. He had one brother old enough that Hub spent some of his life as an only child.
My family is almost stereotypical Irish Catholic, non practicing. The church part, not the drinking. With 6 kids, I gay-run-tee there were heated discussions. I’m putting that nicely, we had and still do have, some rip-snorting blow outs. I remember one of my siblings winging a jar of mayo at me and I thrashed them with a sofa cushion. But no one ever called the cops on us. Maybe that’s because we were not the noisiest people on the block.
So Mr. Husband and I come together in Holy Matrimony and foolishly think, as all newlyweds do, no matter what their age, that love will conquer all. But at the end of the day, love and a healthy dose of respect does conquer all. We are living proof because we’re not dead.
Here is a man who went to airport last week, expecting to pick up his lovely wife, gone for almost 3 weeks. Instead he found a wounded harpy, spewing tears like a fire hose, accusing him of not loving her (enough.) He eventually calmed me down, handed me a box of tissue, fed me (always a good idea,) and convinced me to go the doctor.
Now that’s love! What more can I say? What a guy.