I'm guilty of being swept up by commercialized, dramatized, Hollywood ideas of what love and romance should be. I'm guilty of thinking that because I'm not lavished in jewelry, flowers, surprise trips to tropical locations, evenings out, etc, that I'm not loved, and that my life is lacking romance.
But lately, I've been aware of how much Hubster really loves me. It may not be shown with romantic poems, surprise deliveries at work, or unexpected gifts. However, that's just what the rest of the world wants us to think romance and love is.
Love is Hubster watching a football game and realizing that it's going into overtime and that my favorite reality TV show is going to be delayed, so he changes the settings on the DVR.
Love is him letting me win Words With Friends (and Uno and Trivial Pursuit.)
Love is him finding a song he thinks I might like and putting on my iPod without telling me.
Love is him making the traditional Sunday breakfast that I usually cook, while I sleep post-call.
Love is him attending a new church, because he knows how much it means to me.
Love is him watching cooking shows with me, even when there is college basketball on another channel.
Love is him being careful with my laundry, making sure my bras and pretty underwear never go in the dryer and my favorite shirt is always carefully laid flat to dry.
Love is him leaving a great job, all his friends, and his family to move halfway across the country with me while I followed my dreams.
Love is him sitting next to me while I cry on the kitchen floor, about to give up on my dreams, and telling me that I'm better than that, and I can do it, and he's there for me.
Love is him reading to the boys each night and singing lullabies to Monkey.
This isn't the love that movies stuffed my younger self's head full of, the romance society prepared me for. This is so much better.