A few minutes ago I went upstairs to get two excedrin and an electric heating pad for my husband. He reorganized the living room, carried the big vacuum downstairs (a struggle for me) cleaned upholstery, and then…he shoveled our ice encrusted driveway. If you have never shoveled an iced over, snow laden driveway (or more to the point, watched your scandalously sexy man shovel one) you don’t know how much work it is. My husband is a strong guy and no sissie, and he was still panting and hurting his back.

I offered him drinks, then a warm jacket. He declined both. Then I admit I spent a bit of time on the porch with the cold eating through my dress like acid in order to watch my husband work. There is something so inherently erotic and toe curling about watching a strong man do something hard, something physical.

My husband does so many great, vital, necessary things. He takes care of our little family. Sometimes it is thankless work – like when he is up getting ready for work at 3 am. The times we need a few things at the grocery store and he dashes through the cold or rain to go get them. Vigilant bedside visitation when I, his wife, try to kill myself. Visiting me in hospitals for physical or mental wounds. Handling household setups after moves. Taking trash bins out to the street when the wind is trying to kick the lid back and knock his teeth in. The way he puts together the things we live with and on.

There is so much more. I need to remember gratitude. Each day I make an effort to thank Craig for what he has done, for what he is doing. Is it enough? How many millions of things does he do each day that I don’t acknowledge because they are the fabric of our married life, because he does them so quietly, because I just don’t have the breath or the words?

I need to give him more gratitude each day, whether by putting his boots up or looking him straight in the eyes and saying, “Thank you. I love you.”

Because the things he does, just as much as the things he says, show his love for me.