My husband is turning 40 this week.  I am sharing this with you because I am still 39 and I like to rub it in.  He is 45 days older than me and don’t you forget it.

We have spent the better part of our adult lives together and while we were maturing (and, oh my, given the amount of margaritas I drank on Saturday night, I am still deep in that process) we renovated a house, bought a couple of dogs, started a business and had two premature babies.

This man I married has seen me catheterized, watched my stomach get cut open twice to have tiny children removed and still loves me despite the fact that my thighs are bigger than his.

He has stayed at my bedside more times than I can count, held my hand as our son was taken to surgery over and over again and he has brought me the same flowers every spring for the last 16 years.  He also has coffee waiting for me every, single day.  Bonus!

He has always worked hard so that I could, first, be a stay-at-home-mom and care for our daughter and, second, be a stay-at-home-mom/nurse/therapist/pharmacist/advocate/insurance-wrangler for our son.  And, for the past few years he has plugged away at work so that I could blog (yeah, read that again) and take the time to find full-time work that feeds my passion.  I love my job and I couldn’t have found it without his support.

Though, I do hate sitting next to him on a plane.  Well, except for that one time when I took a Xanax for my fear of flying and he bought me two vodka and cranberries to chase it.  In that particular case, it was the best plane ride EVER.  So, he has that going for him.

He has one, very annoying habit…okay, maybe two or three…and I blame his seven sisters for the fact that he knows exactly how to make a woman angry.  Thanks, ladies, for getting him warmed up for me.

But, despite that harsh, grating noise he makes when he clears his throat, I’m happy that his parents didn’t stop at child #8.

Happy 40th birthday, Dado Fali.  I’m really glad that you were born.

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This afternoon, my husband was out on a 16 mile run…which I could totally do if you took the “6” away and let me stop frequently for puffs of my inhaler.  My daughter was napping because of yesterday’s festivities, which included an indoor swim party, softball practice and having a friend sleep over.  And, I was working on a spreadsheet.

My son was bored.  Really bored.  He kept asking, “What can I DOOOO?” with increasing urgency and when he burst into tears and said, “I’m so LONELY!” I decided he was truly attention starved and got off of my computer.

I motioned for him to sit on my lap and said, “Come here, buddy.  I know you want to play with your sister, but she’s really tired.  I’ll play with you.”

As he climbed on my leg the sobbing continued.  He removed his glasses and wiped his face, then he looked at me through his tears and said, “But, you’re so old!”

Age may be nothing but a number, but this kid’s sure got mine.

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My kids have embarrassed me a lot.  I know it’s supposed to be the other way around and it’s possible that I have skipped in the supermarket and walked down the aisle at Home Depot with my hand in my husband’s back pocket just to get my tween daughter all worked up.

But, I have never turned their faces red in church.

A couple of weeks ago, my son not only applauded after the priest finished his homily, but my daughter also leaned over and whispered loudly, “Mom, your roots are really dark.”

But, even they can’t trump what my husband did in church when he went rummaging through my purse looking for mints and instead pulled out a package of Beano.

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Yesterday, I was looking at a catalog that contains therapeutic socks.

Not just looking at it, but seriously considering the purchase of compression hose because, good gracious, I’m almost 40 and after cooking up lunch for hundreds of kids, my dogs are really barking.  So are my spider veins.

I went to a night club the other night with some friends and I wore a sequined sweater…and tennis shoes.  At one point, I had to step off the dance floor so I could clean my glasses.  Mmm hmm…go ahead and picture all of that hotness.

The bonus?  None of the skeevy men in the club hit on me.  Though, there was that elderly guy with the motorized cart who asked me if I was single.  I thought about saying yes just so I could get a ride back to my hotel room.  Note to self:  If you’re going to be walking a lot, don’t forget your orthotics.  Or, a scooter helmet.

But even though I paid for dancing at that nightclub with bruises to my shins and calf muscles strained so hard that it shocked me, I didn’t let it stop me from shaking my groove thing and having a whole lot of fun.

And, if that makes me consider support hose, then bring on the nylons.

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