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Thirty-two years ago today, someone incredible was born. He was two weeks (or so) early, but that's just the kind of guy he is. Prompt. Timely. Reliable.

Have a birthday scone!

I'm going to be honest, he's kind of my favorite person ever. When we first were married and I declared that I NEEDED a dog, he agreed. When our dog (Niki) needed a dog, we got Elphie. (It bears mentioning that Andrew was a Cat Person when we met.)

Someone once told me that in every relationship there was a Nice One and there was a Mean One, which she punctuated with, "and Jasmin, YOU are the Mean One."

She was, and still is, right.

He reaches things on high shelves, opens jars, and builds me things. He laughs at my jokes, does the heavy lifting, and tastes my culinary experiments. He is enthusiastic when they turn out well and tactful when they turn out... not so well.

He listens to my complaints, agrees to my Official Proclamations and Decrees, and sometimes brings me coffee while I'm in the shower. He leaves me roses from our yard to brighten my day. When I'm unhappy, he does his best to make me smile; if I can't smile, he rubs my shoulders and feet.

He is funny, charming, smart, and so, so good with people. He has an infectious chuckle, he is passionate about the environment, and he is a good sport. When my crazy is dialed all the way up, he makes sure to accommodate whatever it is that I need- no matter how weird, no questions asked.
 
He is also a great dancer. His good qualities are endless. I would keep listing them, but then you'd all realize that he was the best husband in the whole world and my life would be in danger. For my own safety, the list stops here. So, I'll share a story or two.


Around my 23rd birthday, I got a new driver's license.

"Why am I getting a new license?" I asked Andrew, confused.
"Because your old one is expiring," he answered.
"It's a five-year license," I said.
"When did you get it?" Andrew asked.
"When I was 18."
"Yeah. And how old are you now?" he asked.
"21."
"Try again," Andrew says.
"21," now I'm getting agitated.
"Nope," Andrew says. "23."
"What? Oh. Right," I answer, the math being obvious.

Fast forward to last year, Andrew hit what I'll refer to as a Career Milestone. In conversation, Andrew mentioned how blown away he was when this happened, because he NEVER thought he'd hit this particular Career Milestone by the time he turned 30.

"Thirty, huh?" I said, smiling.
"I know!" he was very excited.
"Not to burst your bubble, but you're thirty-one, dude," I pointed out.
"Oh. Still awesome."

I may have pointed out that I, too, can't keep track of my age, and reminded him of the "I am 21!" incident, lo those many years ago.

I love you like the wind, Monkey. Happy birthday.

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