Somewhere in my wicked, miserable past, I must have done something good.

I do not deserve my husband. At all. He is so good to me. I don't deserve him. I am just very, very blessed.

So after my 15 miles in 3 days, I have been really tired and exhausted. And I think because of it, my husband has been even more understanding than he normally is (which is pretty understanding and sweet) of my tornado-like ways. I was raised that when I walk in the door of my house, I take my stuff to my bedroom, put it away, and leave things looking nice and neat. And that's the way I've lived most of my life. But since I've been married...I usually walk in the door, drop all my stuff on the floor right there, drape my coat across the couch, and leave the room looking like a mess.

I was pretty tired this morning (Sunday), so I slept in while my husband went off to a few meetings. When he got home, I had woken up, gotten two blankets out, which were strewn across the couch, and I was in the process of cooking some things and destroying the kitchen. Without complaining, my sweet husband picked up the blankets and started folding them, went to our bedroom, fixed our bed, and when I wandered into the room, still clad in only my underwear (which is really attractive when you're pregnant and as big as a house), I found him picking up my clothes, putting them on hangers and putting them in the closet. When I comment on how nice he is, he always just says, "I just want to be helpful to you. And you know why?" And then he pauses and I say, "Because you love me." He is so helpful and he does really love me.

So after he had tidied up the house, I made lunch, got ready for church, and off we went...after church we had dinner with two really great friends, Sallie and Garrett, and then, completely stuffed, we walked (well, I waddled) the block back to our house. My cute husband had to rush off to work (he leads a process group twice a month on Sunday nights at an addiction recovery center), I stripped down to my underwear, bra, and a tank top (some things never change--my mom wrote in my journal when I was two about how I would quickly shed my clothes whenever I could), and went to lie on the couch in my favorite blanket. After a few seconds, I felt uncomfortable and stripped off the bra and tank and threw them on our loveseat and quietly fell asleep.

A couple of hours later, the missionaries rang the doorbell, so I went and got a robe and answered the door. Ty still wasn't home so I talked to them at the door for a while and then leaving my blanket on the couch, a saucer on the coffee table from bread I had eaten, and a whole bunch of other things strewn about, I went to the bedroom and climbed into bed.

About 15 minutes later, Ty came home and called for me. I answered that I was in the bedroom. So he came and climbed into bed with me and cuddled for a few minutes and then told me he wanted me to go to bed and get some sleep because he knew I was so tired. I wanted him to go to bed too, but he said he was going to go straighten up the living room (i.e. pick up my mess), clean the kitchen (i.e. unload the dishwasher and wash all the dishes I had wrecked during the day and put away all the food I left out on the counter), and then get some stuff done before he went to bed.

It was hard for me to sleep since I had already been sleeping an hour and a half, but I finally drifted off to a dreamland filled with odd nightmares (welcome to pregnancy, people). I would wake up every so often and I could see light through the outline of the door, meaning Ty was still awake and working in his office. I think I dozed off again and my guess is that he finally went to sleep at close to 11:30.

A little while later, I got out of bed to eat something and walked into an immaculate living room, spotless kitchen, AND he had started a work project I had meant to do this weekend and not gotten around to--putting stamps on 500 W-2's (apparently our town doesn't believe in those machines that stamp letters for you--UGH!). He had done over 100 (which is especially sweet considering that I'm just going to take the box back to work tomorrow, set it on the desk of my receptionist and ask her and my clerk to finish them ASAP so I can take them to the post office).

Who is this man? Not only is he this great and finds ways to serve me every day, but he really, really loves me, which he tells me all the time, and he is so affectionate to me. And he is so good. I remember the second week we were dating (I wasn't even sure yet that we were dating...) thinking about how he was the kind of man I'd always wanted to marry, he was the kind of man I knew would be a wonderful husband and father, who would love God, and take care of us...I adore him. And 8 months into our married adventure, I still have moments quite often where I think, "Married. And to Ty. How did I get to be so, so lucky?"