Real Romance

What is romance? How do you define it? Is it roses and chocolates? Is it jewelry and dinner out?

I see romance everywhere, every day. And for me, it is none of those things.

Romance is the giving of oneself wholly in a quiet, unassuming way. Romance can sometimes be loud and blatant, with flowers, chocolates, and jewelry, and that is fine.  But real romance, the kind I’m speaking of, happens every day of the year.

My husband never sends flowers. He doesn’t have to. He shows me every time he smiles at me how much he loves me. There is a twinkle in those blue and green eyes of his when he looks at me that just makes my heart flutter. (Yes, he has one green eye and one that leans toward blue.) He shows it in so many different ways.

He’s done many a romantic thing over the years. Oh, some people might not consider them romantic, but I do and that is what is important.

He is supportive, in so many ways. Career wise, it was him who said I should give up the day job and write full time. When I wasn’t sure about it, he said not to worry, he had my back. He bought me a beautiful desk and awesome chair, explaining those were the tools I needed for my career, just as he needs his hammer and nails. (He’s a carpenter.)

A year later, he’s building us a room addition that will house a new kitchen, dinning room, and most of all, a beautiful new office for me. Yes, I find these things romantic because they all come from his heart.

He takes over kitchen and laundry duties when I’m working to meet a self-imposed deadline. He doesn’t blink when I call an ‘every man for himself’ night dinner-wise for the fourth night in a row. I’m so thankful that he likes mac and cheese and Hamburger Helper.

He’s patient and doesn’t even flinch when I come racing into the room while he’s in the middle of his favorite TV show, to ‘run a quick idea by him’. He simply smiles and says that that is what the pause button is for and I’m helping him get some ‘fast-forward-through-the-commercials’ time in.

He doesn’t yell or complain when he comes home for lunch and finds me ‘doing plot revisions’. (That’s code for: I’m either stuck on a part of the current WIP or tired. Either way, I’m really napping.)

Now don’t get me wrong, this isn’t a one way street with only my husband doing nice things. I show him I love him in a lot of different ways too. I let him sleep in on the weekends. I bring him coffee. I make him his favorite meal -- one I really don’t particularly care for -- just because it is his favorite meal. (Pork Chops in cream of mushroom soup. Blech!)

I throw him surprise birthday parties. I drink coffee so he can have a beer or three when we go out to dinner. Yes, I’m always the designated driver and really, I don’t mind.

There are many things we do for each other, without asking or without demanding them. We try to ‘outserve’ the other. Not necessarily with expensive gifts, but with the little things. I think that is what keeps us in this ‘honeymoon’ stage that we’ve been in for nearly nine years now. We make the effort to be there for each other. We support each other. We encourage each other.

He holds my hand a lot and I like that. He kisses me goodbye every morning and every day when he comes home from work. He asks how my day was. He never, ever, ever says, “what in the hell did you do all day?”

We never fight. We never argue. Unless its about politics, so that topic is off limits.

What it boils down to is this: he cherishes me, and I, him. I know, without a doubt, that he loves me, adores me, and cherishes me. I’d rather have that every single day,  than roses once a year.