Coming home

I love coming home to my  husband, and last night I came home to some wild roses picked from the bush out front and a note.

I love that while I am the words person in our relationship, my husband is so much less afraid to express himself with them than I am.

We had been talking earlier (on the phone, during my dinner break), and I’d been telling him about a bunch of my ideas for what I might do to use the skills I have to make money. I’ve been feeling frustrated with my job, partly because I don’t think I’m all that good at it. I’m adequate, but it doesn’t play to my strengths.

Here is part of what he wrote:

Hey Lovely Wife,

I wanted tell you in a small note now what these set of flowers are. I found them tucked away from direct view but still getting plenty of sun and looking beautiful. I brought them in to tell that these beautiful roses are like your talents and skills. A bit chewed on and wrinkled but bright and clear. Radiant enough to be seen through thorns and storms.

I love him.


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