Whenever a crime is committed focus quickly shifts to the perpetrator’s family members. Did they see signs? Notice something off? Oftentimes it seems the spouses or parents were blind to criminals’ traits or perhaps used to them. I really think that for my husband, Marc, life with me is the nutritional equivalent of being married to a murderer. Most normal people do not bring snacks wherever they go and cook compulsively. After all these years, Marc is probably used to this.
I’m not sappy person but thought, in honor of Valentine’s Day, I’d share my definitions of love:
Love is “you cooked, I’ll clean up.” I always feel the cleaner gets the short end of the stick in this scenario.
Love is understanding that organic-ness is next to godliness.
Love is running through a bunch of rough Chicago neighborhoods in order to support your wife during the marathon. Love is jumping in to run when I didn’t think I could continue.
Love being a guinea pig for far too many healthy recipes and snacks (but drawing the line at green drinks and “too healthy” items.)
Love is taking your boys to hockey at 5am.
Love is charging the iPod after you use it.
Love is giving up soda and sweeteners.
Love is letting your wife blog about you and tweet about you even though you think its silly (or worse than silly).
Love it shopping for presents at Lululemon and Sur La Table; nothing’s more romantic than running clothes or ramekins.
Love is watching me freak out on our first vacation together (in 1994!) because the hotel didn’t have a gym and marrying me a few years later despite my nuttiness (if that’s what this is called).
We all have our quirks. I have many. It really seems that what’s most romantic is being able to embrace or at least laugh at your partners habits…as long as they don’t involve breaking the law.
What are your examples you’d add to the list? What is love to you? And would you rather cook or clean up?