Day 335: Flowers. I hate them.

Flowers.

I hate them.

I hate their crinkly cellophane wrapping. I hate their sticky leaves and limp petals. I hate searching the house for a vase, and I hate that when I finally find one and fill one, I always forget to stir in the white powder until after the flowers have been successfully installed.

I hate cutting stems.

My smallest pair of pruning shears have blades at least 18 inches long, and I can never find my scissors.

So I usually cut the stems with a steak knife.

It is really hard to cut stems at a 45 degree angle with a steak knife.

I hate arranging flowers and I hate finding a place to put them

I hate watering them.

I hate it when they wilt.

I hate it when they die.

I had fake flowers at my wedding.

My husband knows all this.

But he does not care.

A few weeks ago, he brought me home a gigantic bouquet of daisies.

I almost killed him.

(Except I didn't.)

Instead, I pointed out the possible gifts he could have purchased in lieu of flowers:
- Chocolate (Fair Trade white chocolate for special occasions or a Mars bar for everyday goodness)
- Chocolate milk (any size)
- Gum (peppermint)
- Art supplies (acrylic paint, canvas, brushes, pencils, erasers)
- Pet supplies (treats, poo bags, accessories)

Yes. I would rather have plastic baggies full of poo than flowers. However, if flowers are absolutely necessary, I mentioned the following as acceptable choices:

- Any bouquet with 5 flowers or less (and no green stuff or baby's breath). 
- Sunflowers
- Something in a pot full of dirt that I can stick outside and let the rain do the watering

When I first drafted the beginning of this post several weeks ago, I thought I was being clever and reasonable.

And then yesterday happened.

Yesterday, my husband had the day off.

When I have the day off, I sleep in. I might clean or run a few errands, but usually I spend the day sprawled on the couch, inhaling book after book, and only getting up when it is absolutely necessary.

That's not what Nathan does.

This is a man who had the day off. He looks relaxed and rested. 

But appearances can be deceiving.

This is a man who came to visit me at work and helped me make Christmas ornaments for the library.

This is a man who borrowed my keys … so he could put snow tires on my car.

This is a man who took out the garbage and shoveled the driveway and cleaned the house.

This is a man who cooked dinner … and cleaned up after.

This is a man who bought me a present … metal grips for my sneakers so I can run with Sam on the icy sidewalks and not be afraid of falling.

This is a man who led small group at our house.

This is a man who drove me to Walmart so I could choose cushions and a throw to dress up our new-to-us couch.

(This is also a man who drove to Oromocto on a snowy Sunday afternoon to pick up said couch.)

This is a man, up late reading, because he reached the climax of the story and had to find out what happened next.

This is the man who teaches me every day what it means to be truly selfless.

This is my husband – the man that I love – for all this and more.

But tomorrow, we will both wake up.

Tired and grumpy.

There will be bills to pay and a budget to balance and laundry to wash and dry and fold.

There will be stress and anxiety and misunderstandings and poor decisions.

We will not always get along.

He will ramble on about cars. And trucks. And four wheelers. And vacuums.

He will interrupt me repeatedly with non-essential facts about any or all of the above topics – especially when I'm trying to read or write.

(He will also play video games, rock music, or loud movies during that time.)

He will put his dirty work clothes on top of my clean laundry.  

He will put my clean work clothes in the dryer so I'm never sure if I'm gaining weight or if my clothes are actually shrinking.

He will steal every dish, mug, and fork that I own and squirrel them away in his truck until spring.

He will grunt when I'm pouring out my soul to him – and then tell me about a sweet muscle car he just saw on Kijiji.

He may even buy me flowers.

(Gasp! The unforgivable sin.)

But you know what?

I don't mind so much anymore.

I think next time, I might even enjoy them.

#FeelingBlessed