What I don't say

Aw, sweetie. I know. I know. A few nights ago, cuddling in bed before sleep, you sleepily asked me why it was that I am so "upfront" on my blog and write every night in my journal but when I am with other people, I just don't have much to say.

I don't get it either. I'm not really shy or bashful. I guess...I just enjoy listening more than talking most of the time. And with you? I suppose I figure that you just somehow know how I feel.

But, just in case you don't....

Here is what I don't say:

I don't tell you how funny I think you are. I love your sardonic humor, the way you knock out these droll comments that are dead on. It is probably one of my favorite things about you. You have made me laugh from day one.

I don't always mention that I am forever grateful that you seem to know my body even better than I do sometimes. How do you do that? Especially since I am not particularly verbal in bed, not a dirty talker or much of a moaner. In fact, I once had a girlfriend who told me that I was "bad in bed" because I wasn't good about helping her to make proper love to me. But, somehow without much input from me, you figured out that I adore having my breasts caressed and loved on. That I pretty much need you to stay away from my ass. Once in awhile, it's good, but only occasionally. How do you know that I love your whimsical side? The way that you nibble on my toes, tenderly kiss my ankle bone and then slowly, slowly work your way up? I love the way that even when we are in the throes of passion, we often lock fingers and eyes. No one has ever known me better than you or loved me harder. You, on the other hand, have never been shy about telling me exactly what you need/want and for that, I am eternally grateful. I am a poor guesser and when unsure, I just do to you what I like and I would have never known if you hadn't told me that you really aren't much into having your breasts stimulated and that what you really love are those long, slow kisses and meandering fingers. I love it that afterward, we always smile at each other and sometimes laugh with the sheer joy of our connection. I love that we fall asleep spooning.

I don't always mention that I depend on your steadiness far more than I admit. I am the flighty one, I admit it. As you said once, I am the woman who looks like a stiff wind could knock me over, but I could fight a buzz saw if I had to. And win. You didn't say that I could win, but I KNOW that I would. So, it seems a little silly to value your steadiness when I am pretty steady in my own shoes. Yet, I depend on your clear thinking in a crisis, the way you just bend your head down and do it. You are my female equivalent of the marlboro man. Your head is always completely clear. I love the way you instinctively take my arm when it is icy outside, how you open car doors for me and help me in and out even when I don't need it. The way you point out uneven sidewalks and big cracks to me. Once, when we were at a mall, a large man came careening out of a restaurant, shouting belligerently about the food and even though he was not really near us, you put yourself in front of me, arm ready to protect me. And you do that naturally. Every single friend and family member that I have has commented on how you care for me so diligently, so sweetly. It is such a part of our relationship that I don't even think about it anymore, it is just my Bing. Just you. But, I don't think that I have ever told you how much it means to me that you look out for me, have my back ALL THE TIME.

I don't mention the fact that you always give me the biggest share when we split a cookie, a bowl of ice cream or a brownie.

I don't always tell you that I love it that you can do math in your head. Effortlessly. You and Liv run circles around me in the math department. You can figure an 18% tip without having to use a calculator. You balance our check book to the penny.

I don't thank you for putting gas in my car each and every weekend and wash it inside and out. You just do it. Without saying a word.

I don't know if I have told you that while you are not really a better cook than I am (I think we are both pretty mediocre, to be honest) but you do the lion's share of the cooking. I realize that this is because you want to be sure that we eat mostly vegetarian, but I think you do it because you see the fatigue on my face at the end of the day too. And thank you for picking up surprises for me now and then: horchata, cadbury eggs, kettle chips, Claussen's dill pickles and cherry garcia Ben and Jerry's. You will come home and just hand it to me silently. I cannot remember the last time I surprised you with anything. Pretty pathetic. I need to work on that.

I don't think I have told you that I love the way you are always respectful to my family even when they are acting like douche bags. Especially my awful brother in law. Patrice's husband. When he sits there guffawing about how clever he is when he makes racist remarks, you are the one who gently rubs my thigh under the table to calm me down. You sit quietly, looking at him with this puzzled look on your face and always manage to say something that is rather devastating, but still respectful. I don't know how you manage not to throw your iced tea in his face, I really don't.

I have never thanked you for being such a great step mother to Liv. You are her personal driver, her homework mentor, and her music teacher. She loves you so. But you must know that because she is good about telling you that. Much better than I am.

And that brings me to all the I-love-yous that you say each and every day. Sometimes I am distracted or tired and don't answer or just smile, but truthfully, you deserve me to say it often and loudly.

Because I do, honey. Love you. More than you realize.

If I lost you, my world would come crashing all around me. You are so important to me and yet I don't really contemplate that enough. Sort of like my arms. I use them daily, they have never let me down and I don't really think about them much.

Never mind. You are not like my arms anyway, you are more like my heart. My soul. That part of me that I don't let come out because I am not good at professing love. I am terrible at saying those words. And the truth is that I believe with my whole heart that I honestly do not deserve someone as wonderful as you. I feel like that Shawn Colvin song sometimes, that maybe God left something out in me.

But, Bing? I love you desperately, deeply and with every ounce of my being.

You make my life sweeter and truer. (And messier, that is for sho....)

I love you so....