The time has finally come.
My hubby “gave me permission” to use his real name on my blog. It turns out that he just happened upon my blog one day and he said, “That doesn’t even sound like you. You never call me your hubby.” This was followed by a grimace. Hubby? No. Apparently not.
And I said “I know, but you said I should leave you out of my blog so what else am I supposed to call you besides hubby, hubs, and husband?”
And he said, “Just tell them my name.”
As in, you all.
The people I don’t really know, but I feel like I do. Them. You.
His name is nothing earth shattering, but it has been three years that I’ve never called him by name on this blog, so it feels kind of like wow, this is really happening, this is kinda big, maybe I should find a microphone . . .
Alright. Let’s get on with it, shall we?
His name is Shark.
I know. It’s unusual, but there it is.
I’m just kidding. No offense to any men named Shark out there.
His name is Steve. His middle name is Gene and, sometimes, my twin calls him Steven Eugene which makes me crack up.
Let me tell you a little bit about Steve.
His ordinary look, the look that he walks around with unless he is talking or laughing or whatever, is a very grumpy and mean look. I’ve heard that women also have this kind of a face and people think they’re *itchy and the women themselves hate that, but there is nothing they can do about the look that is on their face. It just comes that way.
Well, Steve also has that look. And he has always had that look. And sometimes people ask me why is he so grumpy? And so I have to look at him to see if he is, in fact, grumpy, or if it’s just his regular ole face.
And . . . believe it or not, I happen to be attracted to a tough, mean, biker, tattooed, bald, big type of guy so it’s no wonder that I liked Steve right off the bat. Although, let’s be clear, he’s not bald, has no tattoos, and no bike (unless you count the one time we owned a Harley for about a year). He is big, though, and the look on his face just so happens to be a mean one which I like because, generally, no one messes with us and I always feel protected. Once, at a concert, the guy behind us said he was like a tree.
And, just to be honest and truthful, Steve can be extremely grumpy. And opinionated. And very direct. Which makes me hit him a lot and I hiss “STEVE!!!” under my breath and/or I walk away as if I do not know him.
We are about as opposite as two people could be.
But the reason I love this man, and married this man, is because he is loyal to a fault, trustworthy, hard working, a man of God (this was a progression over many years and lots of prayers), romantic, loving, kind, supportive, and sweet.
Steve would do anything for me. Anything. I have to be careful not to take advantage of it or I would seriously never have to put gas in my car, grocery shop, run to Sam’s, empty the dishwasher, or do laundry ever again. Okay, not seriously, but sort of. Pretty much.
He loves to take care of me. He spoils me. He is a do-er.
All of our friends say he is the person that they would call if their car broke down, their computer crashed, they needed help moving something, they needed a recipe, they needed their house wired for speakers, they needed a tool, they needed help building an entertainment center, or they needed their fence fixed. Call Steve. He’ll come, and he’ll do it, and he won’t give up.
He signs up for everything at church. I can do that, he says. I’ll do that. No problem. Sure, I’ll drive an hour out of the way and pick that up for you. You can count on me.
Meanwhile, at Starbucks earlier that morning, the cashier tried to make a joke about his t-shirt or his shoes or his credit card or who knows, and he just stared her down and didn’t crack a smile.
He knows all of the kids in my class because he actually listens to me when I talk. He will remember to ask about a parent’s email reply or he will suggest that I buy this or that for a certain type of lesson.
But in the next breath, he will play devil’s advocate when I am venting about a new policy or new curriculum mandate and I will want to kill him. I’ve heard lots of husbands do that, though. I’ve heard it’s not just mine. Right?
Steve loves to watch chick flicks. He is a romantic himself. Once, when I came home from a baby shower that lasted all day and was very far away, I walked in the front door to zillions of candles lighting up the entire downstairs of our house, flowers on the table, and an amazing meal waiting for me. Another time, I came home to a Rocky movie marathon with all of my favorite junk foods lining the counter. He does stuff like this all the time.
But . . . don’t make him wait or he is going to get extremely frustrated and then he is going to tell you all about it. If you say 6:00, Steve is going to be ready at 5:45. He grew up in a military family. He is punctual. He is serious.
It drives me a little crazy.
And . . . he is not a morning person. You’ve been warned.
And . . . you need to feed him daily, and often, or watch out.
He has been with his company now for over 20 years and for many of those years, his nickname was Grumpy Bear. One year, for Christmas, they doctored up a Care Bear stuffed animal and made it into a Grumpy Bear. Steve loved it. But, as the years went on, and he grew close to the Lord, and God started working in him, his co-workers noticed a change. Don’t get me wrong. He can still be Grumpy Bear. But now they call him Teddy Bear.
And he is. A very big, gentle giant Teddy Bear.
So now you know. And now I’ll call him Steve. Which is what I call him most of the time. Either that or Sweetie.