A Love Letter

Dearest Husband of Mine,

Almost a year ago (last September) you flew out to interview in Des Moines and then in Miami. I wrote you love letters on my blog while you were gone because I missed you so. I was thinking about this the other night and wanted to write another one to you.

A lot has happened since you interviewed. We got acceptances, we turned down places, we chose Miami and we have now moved here! I am so excited for you to be able to follow your dreams and go to medical school. You deserve it.

Mostly I just wanted to tell you how amazing I think you are. Moving to Miami has been especially rough because of how horribly dirty and gross our apartment turned out to be. You have been unfailingly hardworking and cheerful. In Utah, you were willing to get out a bucket, put on some yellow rubber gloves, and be taught by my mother (the cleaning wizard, who can be a little particular) as she showed you how a room wasn't clean until you'd gone around baseboards, walls, and all sorts of crevices. Not only were you teachable--but you actually got into it! You were excited that Ajax got marks off the wall without taking off paint. Then you didn't even stop there--you used your newfound cleaning knowledge and put it to amazing use in this apartment in Miami. You didn't even blink twice when I thought something really would come off with bleach if you kept scrubbing, or when I handed you a toothbrush to get around the sliding doors in our bathtub that had scum all around them.

I showered in our bathroom for the first time last night. It was amazing. Not because you changed the shower head and bought a new rug for it, or because you let me shower while you changed our bed sheets. Although, those things are pretty amazing, too. It was amazing because I knew how much sweat and scrubbing and many, many hours had been put into cleaning that bathroom. Not because you wanted it that clean. But because you knew I wanted it that clean. And it didn't bother you. You didn't think I was being picky, or tell me it was ridiculous to try to get it that clean. You didn't tell me to do it myself (you actually told me you didn't want me doing it after I did the kids' bathroom). You just did it. And I can't tell you how much I love you for that. For the kitchen cupboards you've scrubbed. For the effort you put in to move the washer and dryer out of their tiny cubicle (which required taking the door off) so I could get the trash from behind it and scrub. Not because you thought it was necessary, but because you knew that I shuddered at it every time I looked at it. I could go through our apartment and take it down to every single tile. You did so much of it for me.

Love is a lot of hard work sometimes. But once that hard work has been put in, it pays off indescribably. I hope I remember, when I have three screaming babies at the end of an all-too-long day and I'm scrubbing down that tub from spit-up, or puke, or poo, and I think I have no help because you have to study, or finish an assignment, or write a paper---I hope I remember how hard you are willing to work for me. And if you had the time, you'd be there scrubbing beside me. I am so thankful for that reminder--because having you in school can be hard sometimes, especially when I feel like I have to do everything at home. I hope I remember that you would be helping, if you could. I love you so much for that.

So here's to our next grand adventure--medical school! and a baby! and Miami! I am so grateful that through the hard stuff and all of the fun and wonderful bits of life, I chose to have you beside me.

Love always,
Lindsay