Almost every single workday morning when I get to work, there’s an email waiting from him and it’s always titled “Good Morning” (even on the hellish days). He tells me how dropping off our youngest went (little E is not such a fan of preschool on some mornings), and goes over that day’s schedule so we’re on the same page, our kids get where they need to be and no one gets lost in the shuffle. He usually ends with something funny, like a crazy thought he had during his commute, or a link to something ridiculous he found online.
What’s amazing to me is that a man who can never remember where he left his car keys manages to remember that email 99% of the time. The other 1% of the time he can be easily reminded by a message simply titled “where the hell is my good morning email?” And if I don’t respond right away, I get a message simply titled “are you dead?” To me that spells d-e-v-o-t-i-o-n folks.
Every weekend, he gets up, throws on some clothes and drives into town to get mama a McMuffin. It’s a mail service-type of commitment: he’ll go whether rain, sleet, snow or crazy-ass low temps. That’s really saying something when you live in Michigan. This might be a teensy bit selfish since he knows the day will go easier on him and the entire family if I’m well fed, but as long as he keeps delivering the sausage eggy goodness, I’m happy.
He has my back against this constantly-churning, rambunctious freakshow we affectionately call our family. We have great boys, but there are a lot of them (whose idea was it to have all these kids?!) and they have inherited sarcasm from both of us (double dose of smartass genes!).
Sometimes they talk back, sometimes they don’t do as they’re told, and they are always, always farting. I can handle all that. But on occasion they will say something really rude or really really inappropriate in front of me. That’s when Joe steps in with what I call his “Vince McMahon” voice. If you're not familiar with the wrestling icon, it looks and sounds like this:
And that’s when shit gets REAL, folks.
He doesn't pretend to understand my strange Taylor Swift addiction, but he defend it to the death. There's not a TS song in existence I don't love so he will not let ANYONE change the channel when we’re in the car and she comes on the radio. He rolls his eyes along with the boys, but he guards that radio with his life. I hope Taylor never finds a guy like him or her music will STOP, y’all.
He makes fun of people who make me mad and/or make me sad. Even if he doesn’t know them and even if I’m being irrational, he will faithfully trot out his crazy brand of humor and risk the gates of hell to make me laugh. Seriously, the guy is wicked funny but sometimes he’ll say things that make me fear for his mortal soul. If you ever do or say anything mean to me and later feel a cold shiver up your spine, that's JD, talking smack about you. You've been warned.
And last (but oh so definitely not least), he knows the lyrics to an absolutely filthy Tenacious D song and he will whisper them into my ear in times of high stress, just because he knows I can’t hear them and NOT giggle. And that’s probably all that needs to be said on that topic.