Treasured

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Early in my marriage I discovered that Michael and I have very different ways of showing our love for each other.

You might call it different "love languages."

And I must admit, it took me awhile to learn to appreciate Michael's dialect.

You see, I love presents.

Getting them, giving them.

There's just something about the idyllic gift that makes me all tingly inside.

Give me a gift and I know you love me. Surprise me with something you've put a lot of thought into, that takes into consideration my likes and dislikes, something, oh, I don't know... perfect, and it will show me how much you care.

I know, it sounds shallow, but it's how I viewed expressions of love, especially back in the 1980s..

There was my first Mother's Day in 1988.

I had my precious Stephen.

I didn't, however, have a card or a gift from my darling husband.
Nothing.

Zilch.

Nada.

I felt a little abandoned and explained to Michael how important holiday acknowledgement is to me.

But despite his Ph.D., Michael has had a steep learning curve in the gift department.

There was the Christmas that he bought me a new rolling pin.

And threw away my favorite rolling pin to boot.

Did I mention that it was my grandmother's rolling pin?

An heirloom.

Now, I'm not against kitchen appliances for gifts. I'd love to get some Le Creuset cookware or a pasta attachment for my Kitchenaid Mixer. But a rolling pin?

So I tried dropping hints.

About 10 years ago, when my children were 10, 8, 5 and 1, I told Michael I would love to have an apron decorated with the kids' hand prints, drawings, etc.

I also mentioned it 9 years ago.

And 8.

Umm, 7, 6, 5...

Finally, two years ago, when my children were 18, 16, 13 and 9, I got the apron.

Complete with hand prints.

Do you have any idea how large a 6' 5" teenage boy's hands are?

So I learned, through lots of trial and too much error, that if I wanted something specific, I not only had to write it down for my darling, but I pretty much had to buy it, wrap it, and deliver it myself.

I used to get somewhat upset when the kids were little and he forgot to have them make me something for my birthday or have them write me cards for Mother's Day.

I'm ashamed to admit that I thought, at times, that if he really loved me, he'd remember the little hints I'd throw him throughout the year or come up with something on his own that was a spectacularly ideal representation of his love for me.

But you see, what I didn't take into consideration is that Michael doesn't just wait for special occasions to show me how much he loves me.

He demonstrates his love for me daily in myriad little ways.

When the kids were little, for example, he always gave them their baths, sang them goofy songs and brushed their teeth.

He almost always does the dishes, he vacuums, folds laundry, and makes a mean homemade pizza.

He's gone along with cats, dogs, guinea pigs, rabbits, gerbils, hissing cockroaches, mice and rats.

Chickens? Check.

St. Bernard puppy? Check.

He stayed with me through my mental illness; never judging and always supportive.
He cared for me - and did most of the housework - all the years I had undiagnosed hypothyroidism.
He's always willing to massage my neck and back at night and lets me warm my icy cold feet on his legs.

Michael not only loves me, he treasures me.

And I've learned that being treasured daily is far superior to the transience of a single gift.

My love gives of himself to me every single day.

I'll take that kind of gift-giving over a new sweater or a diamond watch any day.

I love you, honey.