laugh

The other day I sat at MOPS (mothers of preschoolers) and we were in our discussion groups and I was trying to contribute in a meaningful way. Sometimes I have a hard time at MOPS, I don't really feel the vibe, and to be honest, I only really go because Della loves it. All the women are lovely and the craft projects are nifty, but mentally I have moved on from the baby days. But I hate to go and eat the food and use the Mexican oil cloth and not contribute, so I do chime in with my two cents every now and again. The discussions are usually centered around marriage and family and this day was no exception. The question going around the table was, "What do you most love about your husband?"

And in this age of rampant divorce and family discord, I am MOST THANKFUL to be able to say that that's an easy question for me. OK, well sort of easy. The problem lies in choosing just one thing. When we first met I was sure that he was the cutest fellow on earth. I still think so and gay men have confirmed it. (they are the authority on such things, or so I've been told) But that's superficial, as are his perfect legs. His personality sparkles, he's a voracious student of life, literature, theology, art, and the human condition in general. That could also fall into the superficial category so I kept pawing around in my mind for the TRUTH. He is endlessly supportive and enthusiastic, loves adventure and always chooses the brightest outlook and the moral high ground. He ADORES his children and me and says it often and with ease and shows it even more. Are we there yet? Not quite.

The truth is, the thing that I love the most about my husband is that he makes me laugh. Hard. And often. He is so damn funny to me. I get to laugh my ass off on a regular basis and there really isn't anything on earth that compares to that fleeting ethereal feeling. It's so simple and perfect. One liners, odd dry humour, unexpected zingers...it comes in many forms, but is always present.

Maybe it's our chemistry or maybe I'm easily amused.

Whatever it is, I'll take it.

Here's a doozy from the other night.

We were cleaning up the kitchen together after the kids were in bed and we were putting away leftovers and different ingredients and such. We had fixed a yummy sauteed lemon and caper chicken with parsley and mashed potatoes.

The capers were in a jar on the counter with no lid. These weren't normal capers. They were Wild Capers. It said so on the jar. And he grabbed the jar and in a weird sort of Aussie, Crocodile Dundee-ish voice he yelled, "THEY'RE WILD! THEY'RE NOT TAME! And he slammed the lid on them and forced them into the refrigerator.

I'm still laughing.