Dear friends,
Still crazy about him after all these years.
On the 19th day of this month of Thanksgiving, I am grateful for Mr. Mom.
It’s his 50th birthday. Give him a shout-out, will you?
I have written many, many stories about him. If you followed me over from my former blog, you’ve read most of them. I keep searching for new and better words to capture my enduring affection and respect for the man I met at age 22 and who — nearly 30 years later — still makes my eyes light up and my pulse quicken.
In this space, my favorite posts about Mr. Mom are this one,
and this one
and this one.
Despite continuing attempts, I seem to come up short at expressing what he means to me.
I’ve said he’s my genesis. My steady rudder. My love, my life, and my laughter. The reason I’ve achieved anything worth talking about. The most evolved man I’ve ever known.
And none of that scratches the surface of a man so kind, so thoughtful, so devoid of ego, so generous, so invested in becoming all he can to benefit those he loves that this writer — a woman who thinks she’s pretty adept at stringing words together — quietly contemplates the paucity of her prose and fervently wishes she could do him justice.
Since I can’t, I’ll simply say Happy Birthday, man of my dreams.
With gratitude {for the tall drink of water who took a chance on an over-dressed, under-evolved college girl on a blind date 28 years ago},
Joan, who kind of fancies herself the Diane Cort to Mr. Mom’s Lloyd Dobbler for more reasons than you can imagine, including wild romantic gestures, trench coats, “friends with potential,” and paternal frailties
Debt of Gratitude 