This is an Ode to the man who made me his wife, twelve years ago and for the rest of our lives.
I married a good man, a good father, a man of dedication and loyalty. I have been greatly blessed.
David is the middle (fifth) child in a family of ten, he is one of seven boys, and he has three sisters. As such, he learned a lot about babies. When Logan was born, David knew a lot more about diapering and burping babies, than I did. I’m not at all sure Logan would have made it through that first year without his daddy. David was going to school at the time. I started working part time when Logan was about nine months old to help with the bills. David, who was serving on the student counsel, often took Logan to school with him while I worked. Maybe that’s why Logan turned out to be such a scholar.
David was in the hospital with me when I lost our second child, a son, we named Duncan. Born 18 weeks into the pregnancy, Duncan could have been considered a “miscarriage,” but he was born alive and David held him and wept with me as the baby died.
Later, when Adam came into the world with a head full of curly dark hair, I knew his middle name would be David, just like his father. Adam and David are best buddies; it does my heart good to see my children interact with their father. I believe one of the best things I could have given my children was a father who loved them.
David has worked hard to provide for his family, even though not all of his jobs have paid well, and many of them were not glamorous, he did them, for us. I adore him for taking a job with a portable potty cleaning service in order to pay the bills.
He now works as sixth grade teacher and puts heart and soul into training the young skulls full of mush in his charge. The girls puzzle him, as adolescent girls are wont to do, heck; I was even puzzled by myself when I was that age. But the boys do well under his firm but kind leadership. This year he has taken to sitting with the students when he eats lunch because one of his students is disabled, and needs extra attention. This concern for his young charges has been praised by his principal.
But mostly, David is good to me. It’s true, he doesn’t understand my moods any more than he understands the moods of the pre-teen girls in his classroom, but he is forever patient. He is not afraid to pitch in with housework; he folds clothes and cooks Sunday dinner more often than not.
David, I love you. I love all you do for me and our children. I appreciate your hard work to keep me at home where I can care for our children. You have greatly blessed my life over the past 12 years beyond my greatest expectations.