You didn't think we could make it 30 days without my expression of gratitude for my Clarky, did you?
Clark mentioned on his blog our recent trip to the blood suckers and his extreme aversion to having blood drawn. I'll admit, it was more than a bit unnerving. All this time I just thought he was squeamish about needles, sort of like how some people are a bit scared of the dark. (I may or may not fall into that category.) Um, no, it was much more intense than that. He got really pale and just looked very wrong. Ill. Not well. White. I had never seen him like that. It made him seem so vulnerable.
I'm sure Clark appreciates me sharing this with the world. But before you go thinking I'm married to a weakling, he was better after about 10-15 minutes and back to my normal, chipper Clark.
I tell this story because this was one of the few examples of me being the "strong one" in our relationship. I am usually the blubbery mess about something ridiculously trivial. I am the one who falls apart at 5:45 on the dot every day, courtesy of the rush of hungry, impatient, attention starved children at my feet while I'm making dinner. I'm the one who starts the fights. Clark is the one who ends them. By patiently waiting for me to fizzle out. He is the calm to my storm in our family. And I am ever so grateful to see him at 6:00 every day, because the Mom Monster goes away the second he walks in the door.
Seeing him laid up for 10 minutes made me realize how lucky I am to have him, calm and strong, all the other minutes.
I married well. Clark makes me a better person. And I'm grateful.
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