Thanks for being here, and for reading these things I write every Sunday. But really, thanks for all the times when you aren’t here in front of this screen because you’re too busy working in the real spaces around you, planning our meals and wiping down the highchairs after the kids have gone (and also because you’d rather throw your iPhone out the window, and all social media with it).
I know I’m on the computer a lot these days, writing things and talking to people who live in other places, so thanks for caring about the folks who live here in our place— on Edgewood. While I’m in my room typing this up just now, I can hear you in the kitchen, running the vent to catch steam from a big pot of spaghetti. Thanks for that; I’m looking forward to it.
I read a lot, too, and get lost in ideas that are cool but don’t mean much to hungry boys when they come home from work. So thanks for reading recipe books in bed at night. (It just struck me that maybe that’s why your bad dreams are about running out of food for us all?)
I like shopping with you, because you never buy things for yourself. Take yesterday, for example, when we went garage sale-ing together. I headed straight for the books and teacups, but you bought a gorilla suit for Hudson and a truck for Barrett to ride on. I told we didn’t need more toys (and I’m stilling wondering about the gorilla suit, to be honest), but then again, do I really need more books?
Speaking of which, I know you’ve never read Lord of the Rings, but there’s a character named Sam who always looks after his friend, Frodo, and he does it by making sure he’s eaten. Thanks for being our Sam. (And thanks, too, for letting us watch The Return of the King when you’d rather watch Andy Griffith. Just so you know, I’m still hanging onto the hope that you’ll watch it with us someday soon.)
I would write more, but you probably need my help with dinner more than you need a blog post. I’ll be there in a minute, but just one last thing:
I love you.