This one goes out to the one I love

Dearest Dada,

Today you are 36 years old. This morning we played a fun game where we decided your new age was a magic number, since many numbers are factors of it. The fun in this game stopped, according to you, when we realized that 2 and 18 were factors of 36, meaning that you are now twice as old as the freshmen you would be teaching. Then you decided that birthdays suck and that you are tired and old and fat. Honey, you aren't fat. Now go be a good boy and eat that pumpkin pie I made you.

Yesterday we found out that Eddie Van Halen and Valerie Bertinelli are getting divorced after 24 years of marriage. You are a big Van Halen fan and we have always enjoyed talking about how Eddie wrote this or that song for Valerie, and how their Hollywood marriage has endured where many others have failed. Tonight you asked me if I would still love you in 24 years (you will be 60 then, the age your mother turned yesterday -- Happy Birthday, Mamaw!). Did I even hesitate to say yes? How can you not want to be with a guy who:
*is a superstar at his new job
*is not intimidated, and in fact is proud, that his wife has a Ph.D.
*can cook a mean Thanksgiving turkey. And make his own gravy (from scratch)
*intends to install a wood floor in my parents dining room over Christmas. In two days. By himself. And is also entertaining the idea of building a house for me and our two babies
*is the world champ at making up alternate, child-unfriendly lyrics to Wiggles songs for my amusement
*is GQ enough for the both of us, who makes my girlfriends so jealous of me because I don't have to pick out your clothes for you, because you are appalled to think that your peers believe black sneakers can double as dress shoes. Someone whose genetic material must carry such ideas along because, after 8 years of your loudly loathing my beloved but probably worn-out and tacky maroon Mary Jane Doc Martens, today your son told me they were "yucky" and brought me some nicer shoes to wear as we were getting ready to leave the house
*is unabashedly in love with and beloved by our beautiful, genius child
*continually reassures me that having a second child will be so much fun and will, in fact, not result in my demise (and puts up with my moody pregnantness)

Oh, I could go on, and get generic about how you're smart, funny, thoughtful, and all that Hallmark stuff. But I would prefer to let your actions continue to speak for themselves, to let the list continue to refresh daily, as it does, giving me and the boy more reasons to be so thankful each day that you are ours. Forever. Whether you like it or not.

Yours,

Mama