6.16.10

Dear husband,

Pulled BBQ made by yours truly, a new beer, and a brother in town…a perfect Thursday evening for us, I’d say.  Thank you for hugging me for eternity when he left.  Foot fire, I’m crying again.  Imsoemotional.

A delightful Saturday of wakeboarding left you walking like a 96 yr old man with a broken hip.  For some reason when I picture said man, he is holding a trumpet.  Thus is how my brain works.  Anyway, you’ll get that back flip by the end of the summer.  Concussion free, I hope, but if not, I mean, we have to make sacrifices.

On Sunday mornings, when we are elated to be with Him, I love to stand back and watch you talk to people.  You seem to make a new friend each week.  A new development I think.  A light in you has come on…your love for people is growing.  I’d put money down that says God is getting you ready for something big.

As we moved to the pasta aisle at the HEBizzle and I was still gettin’ down to the cant-stand-still music they play, you said, “Come on, Mr. Cooper”. Really?  When you’re that funny, it completely shocks me.  Because I am the funny one.  Don’t take that the wrong way- It is just quite obvious that hanging with Zach this weekend (who is my blood…making him extremely funny) really upped the funniness in your hilarity meter.  He does that to everyone.

Next time we are 8th row at a Bret Michaels opener, I promise to dance like I have a metal rod up my spine and I just drank a bottle of moonshine.  I know you wished I was that girl.

You are the Skynyrd to my Lynyrd,

Wife