That Kind of Love

Yesterday, my newly married co-worker told me he was making tacos for his wife for dinner. He asked if he could leave a little early because he still needed to get groceries. 'No problem,' I said. It reminded me of what I would have done seven, eight years ago. I knew that energy. I knew that kind of love.

This past weekend, I watched my friend Tricia walk uncharacteristically slowly down the aisle, arm in arm with her adoring father to marry her soul mate in a perfect display of Pittsburgh pageantry.

Dressed mostly in black and grey, the congregants filled just about every pew in Heinz Chapel, snapping pictures of I dos and the first kiss, wiping away a tear or two, offering a prayer, and holding back the desire to erupt in thunderous applause as Colin, senior at Catholic Catholic High School, belted out the Our Father, Barbara Streisand style.

The crowd dusted off the drizzle as they migrated to the Duquesne Club for cocktails, dinner and dancing.

The twinkle lights, St. Germaine laced Margaritas, Bluegrass band followed by Big Band, Tattinger Champagne, three course dinner, mountainous cake with figurines of Tricia and Kenny skiing on down, and of course tables full of the Club's signature Macaroons, were all delicious. The speeches were personal and meaningful; interwoven stories of good people with too much humility to ever admit they were some of the best of our boastful generation. It was an evening of happily ever after; a fairy tale of true love proportions. Big, proud smiles. Glowing, generous laughter. I knew that bliss. I knew that kind of love

The next day, I crept into my friend Rebecca's postpartum room at West Penn Hospital to see a new mom holding her beautiful new baby. She was tired and nervous, but also so excited. Her husband Tom doted on her and the little blond babe. He was concerned and cautious, but also so proud. This was foreign territory, but backed by a brave new love. I knew those emotions. I knew that kind of love.

Six and a half years into my marriage, I've come to know another kind of love. The one where time, bliss, and energy are never on your side.

This kind of love is strong and persistent. It's patient (so patient) and kind. It lasts through all the sicknesses that have been circulating through our house. It's a hug when you need it most. And a kiss on yet another boo boo.

It's letting the other person get one more hour of sleep in the morning. It's bringing in the paper for him and starting the car for her. It’s taking the time to renew your spouse’s drivers license because you know she will drop the ball, drive around with an expired license and get ticketed. It's an attempt to make a decent dinner every night and offering a 'thank you' even though it doesn't compare to the feasts of yesteryear. It's asking Siri to play a song you hate, because she likes it. It’s doing the dishes while the other one gives the kids baths.

It's the reflection of your spouse in each one of your darling kids' faces. And it's taking a second to remember that. It’s finding the last little bit of energy for the day to say, I love you, before closing your eyes and going to sleep.

The love of busy, working parents is oftentimes without showmanship or glamour. But it's known and it's generous and it's precious.

I'm so thankful for all the little (and big) ways that my husband shares his love with me each and every day.

Yes, I'll forever and always be your Valentine.

Lo.