I love you.
I love the caring and compassionate, sensitive and sympathetic mother that you are to our children. I love the over-the-top ways you tackle their projects and obsess over the details with them, from Whitney’s senior table to Valerie’s class presentations and Carley’s clothes. I love the ways you gently correct them. I love the ways you teach them. I love that you sing with them and rock out with them in the van. I love that you love to watch Little House on the Prarie with them. Every day.
I love the way you carefully and faithfully provide for all of us and take care of us. I love that you sweep the floors four times a day. I love that you never cook two foods of the same color for the same meal. I love that you keep up with all the details; I even love that you know exactly how much I spent at Whataburger before I can even get back to the office. I love that you use so much bleach. On everything.
I love your beautiful eyes that almost shut completely when you laugh. I love your laugh, which I’ve heard much more in the past eight months than I’ve heard in a long, long time. I love your inside-out socks and your blue jeans and your gray Marble Falls basketball sweat shirt. I love your huge sunglasses. And your hair. I love your hair.
I love that you love our Lord. I love that I’m a better disciple of Jesus, a better person, a better man because of your faith and commitment to our God. I love that you have taught me how to worship him. I love that you have shown me how to trust him. I love listening to you pray. I love that you have pushed me and encouraged me and joined me in ministering to our God’s people in his Church. I love that you’re my partner. In a billion wonderful ways, you are my partner. And I love that.
I love you, Carrie-Anne.
Happy Birthday, babe.