I Want to Live A Very Boring Life
I want to wake up on Sunday mornings knowing we'll always stop at Starbucks before the morning service and always get there ten minutes before it starts.
I want our bills to be paid on time.
I want to go grocery shopping like it's the most fun we'll have all week. I'll grab the chai latte concentrate, you'll grab the package of cookies and wink like you just got away with something big. We'll both stop at the butcher's and pick the meat you'll be grilling on Saturday night.
I want to go to baseball games where you'll be excited but not obnoxious and we'll high-five when the grand slam gets hit in our favor. You'll grab a beer and bring me back a Diet Coke and nachos because you know that's gluten free. And you'll stop at one beer because you don't need to get wasted and you need to drive home. And I'll stop at one nacho dish because those things are huge.
I want to walk in the evenings with you by my side and talk about people at work or your mother or how my father still can't figure out why he's so angry that we turn on lights when it gets dark.
I want you to check my oil and clean my car and tell me it's because you want to know I'm safe and comfortable when I tell you that you don't have to do that for me; I'm perfectly capable.
I want your biggest deception to be not telling me what you're getting me for Christmas, or my birthday, or our anniversary.
I want you to be where you say you will be, where you say you were.
I want you to smile when I walk in the room and say horribly tacky things to the waitress that makes her think we're old fashioned but lucky to be in love.
I want you to reach for my hand when you drive, open the car door for me and, when you give me a kiss, think about me, not the latest porn video you watched while I ran to town.
I want you to love God, write scripture on your heart, and fiercely pray because you know the only way we're getting through this world is with Christ leading our way.
I want you to do our taxes honestly.
I want you to refuse to take anyone for granted, most of all me.
I want you to want me to take my role of wife seriously because you take your role of husband seriously and we'll laugh together when we make dinner. I'll sauté the mushrooms. You'll take the roast out of the oven. We'll both clear the dishes before settling down to watch tv.
I want to go to our friend's wedding and not have to count drinks. I want to learn what it's like to ride home and not be afraid that something I might say or do will set you off. I want you to wrap your arm around me while we walk to the car, me dangling my heels in my hand, you chuckling while saying you enjoyed watching me have fun tonight.
I want you to go to the McDonald's drive thru on the way home and order me a hot fudge sundae even though I know it's not real ice cream.
I want to go shopping for a washer and dryer and listen to you tell me about what you learned in Consumer Reports because an investment of this kind should last awhile.
I want to bring you lemonade when you're painting the trim on the house. I want to smile when you bring the garbage cans to the end of the driveway and wave at our neighbor.
I want to know what's it's like to believe the words coming out of your mouth. I want to know what safety in truth feels like. I want to see how big my heart can grow.
I want to watch as you cast your fishing line, calm and patient, strength in your stillness.
I want to catch a glimpse of you outside while I'm putting the laundry away and marvel at how natural you are at encouraging my boy to kick that soccer ball. I want to smile when I hear you yell GOAL like Messi himself just won the World Cup from our backyard. I want to laugh out loud when I watch the two of you running around, arms raised in celebration, scaring the chickens that lay our brown eggs and a couple of those light blue ones, too.
I want to change the bedding and fold the towels and sweep the floor while listening to music and never have to hear how lame I am for liking that song.
I want lame holiday celebrations, year after year, that you love so much you'll say it just wouldn't be the same without them.
I want you to light up and say yes when I ask if we can get professional photos done. I want to send out Christmas cards with our smiling faces on the front to everyone we know.
I want you by my side when I get the diagnosis. I want to be by your side when you come out of surgery.
I want to be old and grey and feeble and tell my grandchildren that not once did you ever threaten to leave me, that you never told me how easy it would be to replace me, or that I should be lucky you put up with me. I want to tell them with pride that not a single day went by without telling me you loved me - and meaning it.
I want to make you coffee in the morning even though I don't drink it. I want to check the door at night to make sure it's locked. I want the porch light to always be on and a light to glow in the living room window because you always loved driving down the roads at night commenting on the cozy homes.
I want to live a very boring, happy, peace-filled life.