Remember that time we ate at a restaurant in the South Side and there was poop under the table? On top of it all, the food was horrible. Didn’t you throw your shoes away in a dumpster because the poop got tracked into your car? I’m pretty sure you drove home in your socks.
Yes. After further review, that statement is correct:
Gosh I miss the curly hair.
I’ve known you now for almost nine years. I met you when you came in for your interview at TGI Fridays and I remember turning to the hostess and saying, “Wow. We need to hire that.”
You know what’s my favorite part about us? We just work. We make sense. In all the years we’ve been together, our fights have been minimal. They’ve been big, but they’ve been minimal. Aside from me constantly asking you when you’d ever ask me to marry you, we’ve gotten along pretty well. We’ve never really been one for taking our time. At three months, we moved in together, at four we got a dog. At a year we were engaged and three months shy of two years, we were married. On our first year anniversary, I was waddling around the zoo, 8 months pregnant with Claire. You know the rest, because here we are, with the same dog, but four kids thick, way beyond zone defense – into the realm of a constant penalty kill.
And we wouldn’t have it any other way.
I remember when you had curly hair, a cleanly shaved face, and your only stress was school. I loved it when you’d put on a nice button down shirt to go to class. I hated the way you’d drive my car, because you weren’t all that great at driving a stick. The first time I ever rode in your car, you opened the door for me and I immediately thought what a gentleman. Turns out, it was just because your door was busted and you didn’t want me to know. To get through school, you worked three jobs and still graduated with awesome grades. You’ve always known the meaning of hard work and sitting still isn’t something you’re very good at.
You love hockey and even though you wanted to boycott the Pirates, I would still catch you sneak checking the score. After all, the white Pirates hat I bought you is still your favorite. For the past six summers you’ve played softball and I’m pretty sure it’s something you look forward to each year. And every year you say you want to play more golf, but you’re probably lucky if you even get out twice.
You are a man surrounded constantly by all women and a Luca. You surprisingly don’t complain too much about it. I don’t think we’ll have to worry much about Claire pulling her weight around the house, because she’s already helping out with the daily chores. Now we just have to teach her how to mow the lawn and we’re set. I’m sure you wanted more sons, but truth be told, you’re really, really good with the girls. There’s a certain kind of sweetness that you have when you’re around them. Simply put, those girls light you up like no other and I believe that they make you a better person. Honestly, I’m waiting for the day you answer the door for one of the girls’ potential boyfriends in your underwear and a baseball bat and make them squirm. Not that I’d blame you one bit.
Looking back, Matt, the happiest day of my life was the day I met you. Without you, none of this would be possible. I know that when we first met, I was a little nuts but, and I have no idea how, you looked past all that and gave me a chance. You’re the honorable, kind man that I always wanted in my life. You’re not only patient, but probably one of the funniest guys I know.
I’m so glad you’re mine.
Today is your birthday.
Happiest Birthday, Matt. I love you.