Music Mondays

I know it's kind of sickening to read sweet stuff from a redhead writing about her husband, so if you feel like you're already gonna hurl, don't read this.

The Old Man and I have the kind of relationship where all emotion is expressed through action: he handles the daycare trips to drop off and pick up The Kid way more than I do; we'll share making dinner and doing the dishes, even though both of us are about ready to fall on our butts from exhaustion; he touches my hair and my face when he comes downstairs in the morning; and he washes my car. Even waxes it. I will refrain from describing the emotional actions in the bedroom, thank you very much.

We rarely talk about anything. We definitely don't talk about feelings. Let me rephrase that: he definitely doesn't talk about feelings. I might ramble on about someone at work and how I'm totally better than they are and I can't believe they said that to me, etcetera, but we don't ever get into the nitty gritty of How are you?

Well, actually, I've been experiencing a general malaise, and I find myself not caring about anything lately.

These conversations do not happen. And so, because these deep conversations do not happen, The Old Man has a tendency to surprise me. Always pleasantly.

This is where the music comes in. I was driving his truck, because he had taken my car to get new tires, and I listened to the CD he made for himself from i-tunes. The same Black-Eyed Peas song I like. The same Norah Jones tunes. Same Michael Jackson songs I downloaded this summer. I almost wrecked, I was so shocked. Here I thought I was married to a 2Pac, Rage Against the Machine, two-band man, and I find that he grooves to (some) of the same stuff I do.

Thanks Old Man for all the pleasant surprises you give me. All of them.