Writing Wrongs

February 13, 2005

Love is when your husband races home from the airport on a Friday during rush hour so you donít have to deal with all the crazy, I-live-vicariously-through-my-son dads at the pinewood derby weigh-in.

Love is when your parents buy you season tickets to the theater because they know the adult brain can only take so much Barney, Teletubbies, and Cartoon Network.

Love is when your older brother serenades you to sleep by plucking strings on his guitar and then tucks you in with his favorite teddy bear.

Love is when you notice your mommyís plate is empty, so you use your little fist to give her some of your food.

Love is when your friends listen to you and even understand, even when what you said sounded crazy to your own ears.

Love is chocolate-chip pancakes, chocolate truffles your husband thinks are silly but buys for you anyway. Love is lots and lots of baby dolls, and lots and lots of trading cards. Love is reading in bed and family movie night.

Love is right here.

Charity Tahmaseb wrote at 3:28 p.m.

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