Last week my Dad told me I married up.
He obviously meant it in a very nice way and nothing degrading to me at all. I'm glad my Dad likes my husband. It really means the world. The funny thing is I think I've known this fact all along, but to have your own father tell you is, well... it's honest. Hopefully everyone thinks his or her own spouse is "the best husband/wife in the world," so I'm not going to say that. All I know is that my husband is the best husband I could ever have for me.
You know those weeks that are a little sub par? And even though the weekend is meant for fun times and partying, you know those Fridays where you get off of a crappy day/week at work and all you want to do is literally hide under a blanket for a while? Yeah, I did that. I literally came home, ate dinner (that Russ had thrown together... again, I know, I married up), and then hid under a blanket on the couch for 15 minutes.
I know, you're thinking... "get a GRIP Camille! You sound ridiculously dramatic right now."
I was. I was being dramatic.
But this is when that whole "Russ is the perfect husband for me" thing comes into play. He knew that was all I needed. I needed a moment to hide from the responsibilities and hard facts of life (like, for example, finding out we owe $2,000 in taxes... ouch). Hiding under a blanket helps a bit.
Thanks for marrying me Russ. Here's to a happy Valentine's weekend. It's gonna be great.