Alan. The man. The myth.......

I was thinking today about how I always harp on Alan for things he does "wrong", or "different", or "weird". When we were dating, I gave him a hard time because he said "Pacific, and Pacifically" instead of "Specific, and Specifically". He really did. He doesn't anymore.

Miles' mouth is kinda crazy here, but I love this one of Alan.

After we were married I saw how he folds clothes, or doesn't fold them. We had shelves on the wall instead of a dresser, and my side was always like, "Look at me and my awesome folding skills! All lined up, like a Champ! Could I be any cooler?!?" His side looked like a wombat had come in and angrily tore through his clothes, trying to find the keys to his little wombat car before realizing "Hey, I'm a little Australian woodland creature, and therefore  I don't drive a car", so he just gives up and goes into the kitchen for a snack. Alan rolls his clothes, people! He's all like, "I don't feel like folding, and rolling is so much easier to do-and sort of enjoyable. I'll just do that. Plus I think these pants want to be friends with the shirts up here, and why don't I just set this sweatshirt across all of these clothes. I don't want them to be cold, or anything." (Actually, he's probably more like, "Meh." *toss*) Problem is, he greatly underestimated my need for control and order while being a bed-ridden pregnant person. I had to spend a lot of time in our room, and looking at his rolled-or simply tossed clothes, drove me crazy! When he did attempt to fold them, it was just wrong. It wasn't my way, so I couldn't handle it, and he was banned. From ever folding laundry again. I don't mind. I like doing laundry. (Don't judge me if you come over though-as much as I like doing it, the sheer amount of laundry I have now overwhelms me. It is pretty much an avalanche, waiting to devour me when I try to actually do some laundry before the kids run out of underwear.) But, Alan is in charge of putting his own clothes away, since I have nearly passed out a few times just by seeing the condition of his unorganized, clothes-just-shoved-in-all-willy-nilly dresser drawers. I honestly can't handle it.

Alan and the boys enjoying a water-gun fight in  Utah.

I let him put together a book shelf once. Once. I thought he was doing fabulous; peeking over every once in  a while from my own entertainment center project to check his progress. I was so proud when he exclaimed "I'm done!" from across the room. I went to check it out, and saw that all the boards had been put on upside-down, so all the little metal hardware was showing. I can't describe the panic I felt at seeing this-making this Walmart bookshelf that we had spent our wedding money on, less than perfect. I was totally about to grab the hammer and screwdrivers out of his hand, and become a beast of nightmarish proportions when I just stopped for a second, took a deep breath and thought to myself "Wait. This was an accident. He didn't mean to mess it up. Relax." Which I did. And after the initial shock, I did calm down and started laughing. I didn't change a thing either. I kept that bookshelf that way to remind me to never ask for his help building anything again. Now he is in charge of ALL car repair/maintenance and I take care of the inside of the house. Building stuff-wise.

Alan has a way of pushing me to that edge sometimes, where I literally want to rip his ears off and feed them to baby lions. He can push my buttons in a way that nobody can, on their worst day. BUT, that being said-I realize that he can only do this because I care what he thinks. When he calls me on something, I get embarrassed. When he puts down something I do/say I feel ashamed. When he's angry at me, I am worried that he just might think "Forget it! She's not worth it" and just walk away. He also can make my day by saying that he loves me. He can make me laugh by just hearing his giggle. He makes me feel like I'm his favorite thing in the world when he gives me his big hug. I completely love him, and am so glad I married him.

He is a great husband/father/friend. He does the dishes most days. He will pick up (every once in a while) without having to be asked. He knows practically everything about cars, and helps out my friends and family when they need "car" advice, and/or repair. He is just fun to be around. He likes to take the boys to the park, so I don't have to. He bakes me birthday cakes. Maybe he can't build shelves, fold clothes or follow simple "Tammy" directions, but he is easy to draw pictures of-and that gives me and the kids hours of fun. And he doesn't care about me changing the furniture around all the time, or having "less than manly" blankets on the bed.  He is pretty much cooler than any perfect looking shelf I could ever have. And that is saying a lot.

Thanks for working so hard for our family, Babe. You are truly appreciated! (But, in case I ever do ask you to do something for me, and you are confused-PLEASE don't hesitate to pick up the phone and call me. It will be easier on us both!) Smooches!