I don't know how I got to be the most important person in Matt's world. I am constantly befuddled by the thought, and yet it brings me endless pleasure. There is something terribly special about a man who works his ass off so you can have a comfortable life with all your needs met. A man who comes home from long hours at work, often more than a regular 9 to 5, and proceeds to help take care of kids, change dirty diapers, clear tables and take out trash, and even help with dishes after dinner. Maybe he doesn't do every one of those tasks every day, but he always does them without complaint.
Just thinking about him overwhelms me sometimes. Sometimes when he's at work I miss him, I feel it as an ache deep within my heart and soul. And then he walks in the door and he's amazing and goofy and perfect. He calls our three year old Bob and wrestles with the five year old. He writes books with our seven year old. He cuddles with the baby and puts him down for a nap. This life couldn't possibly get any better. He is such a good father. I am so thankful that I found such a good man to raise a family with. He told me the other day he likes having kids with me. I asked him, incredulously, "you like having kids with me, or making kids with me?" He said both. I'm still not sure what he meant by "having." But he's definitely pulling his weight on the parenting thing so I guess whatever he meant it works.
I love watching him with the kids and listening to their conversations. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside when I see him teach them funny little tricks, or invents new games with them. They have such big imaginations. Father and children so much alike. They love it when he composes songs and stories about them on the fly. I try but I am a poor substitute. Daddy's stories rule, and his songs are longer and funnier than Mom's. Sometimes I think the only thing I really have going for me is that I can cook better than he can.