Dear Derek,

 The other day you were tired and hot and sore, ready to come in and call it a day, when I came out to see how the boy's birthday present was coming along.  You had gotten far, but I still asked, "Are you going to put the slide up today?"  You sighed and answered, "My battery needs to charge a little."  I didn't know if you meant yourself, or your tool.  But I answered, "You know Luke would be thrilled if the slide was up when he wakes up from his nap."  You just nodded as you hauled your tools back into the garage.  As soon as your battery was charged (literally?  figuratively?  both?), you went back out and finished the slide.  The building isn't done.  The swings aren't up.  But you pushed yourself, finished the slide that very day, and made two little boys extremely happy.  Can you tell?  You are anything but selfish.

I don't always know how to love you best.  You don't need much, and you ask for less.  Sometimes I joke that you "put up with us" - this crazy family of yours.  But you don't.  You do much better than that.  You love us.  You listen to us cry. You are tender when someone is hurt.  You keep a close eye on finances, and take our family's needs seriously.  You come home after a long day at work to a screaming baby (yes, he's in a screaming phase!), a tired wife, a messy house, and a three-year old delightedly jumping up and down shouting, "Daddy's home! Daddy's home!", and you smile as you pick up the baby and give hugs all around.  I don't know if you know that those hugs are sometimes the only thing keeping me from literally chucking the burnt casserole out the window (or the screaming baby). You are gentle, and you teach me to be gentle too.

You are not a saint.  But you are my husband, and these boy's Dad.  And you do better than you think, at both those jobs. I said I don't always know how to love you best.  And I don't.  I wish you liked chocolate bars.  Or movies.  Or something I could wrap in tissue paper and hide under your pillow.  Instead I make dinners with ingredients you've never heard of, and make you a sacrificial guinea pig for my experimental meals.  Instead you sit endlessly in front of my camera while I shoot test shots to check my light.  Instead I drag home porch swings and french doors and old windows for do-it-yourself projects that turn into honey-will-you-do-it-for-me projects.  Instead I call you up at work, in tears about how the washing machine isn't working and Luke just pooped in his pants - again. Oh dear.  Maybe you are a saint.

Most days I feel really lucky to have you as my husband, father to our sons.  And the days when I don't feel lucky, it's just because I haven't sat down for a moment to think about it - I've taken you a bit for granted perhaps.  But even that is a reminder of how consistent you are, reliable.  If you're always there, never stopping loving us, you're just part of us, and that's the way we like it - the way it should be.  We hope you see that when we take you for granted, you have done your job perfectly.  But we try real hard not to take you for granted. And I wanted to tell you so.  Somehow. I want to love you the best way I know how.  I wrote you a letter.

I love you.

laura