night night

you are passed out now and its 9:18 pm. passed out in the 'youre overly exhausted after getting up at 0'dark thirty this morning' way and not in the 'had a few shiner bocks and are now unable to hang with my need to converse' way. and while i typically roll my eyes and marvel at just how quickly you can be here one minute and lost in crazy deep sleep the next, i am from my head to my toes, thankful for you. right here. right now. sound asleep next to me. tonight, i know your need for sleep is born of a long day that begins hours before i open my eyes for the first time and awaken to the coffee you have once again made and not had time to drink. you wake early, work hard and come home with just enough of you left to greet your little people, who wait anxiously and enthusiastically, noses pressed to the window most nights for your return.

and i love that our children thank God every night that 'daddy had a great day at work', having never asked the question of what kind of day you really had. they are so confident that everyday is a great day because of you and the way you scoop them up, smile at them and hold them close every time you walk in the door. its no wonder they assume everyday is a great for daddy since everyday, daddy is great to them. so, thank you for getting up, showing up and allowing me to live my dream. the one i didnt know i had until my eyes met hers for the very first time and i was lost. gone. hopelessly taken in by her and wanting more than anything to be the one she spent her days with. sometimes, in the midst of snow days and sick days and long days that bleed into longer nights, its easy to forget that it is you, waking up while the rest of us sleep that makes this life i wouldnt trade for anything possible. so, thanks, we will catch up and check in and ill unload all 24,563 words ive been saving for an adult conversation when you are less tired. no worries. ill wait. sweet dreams.